The Chrysanthemum and the Rose
by DJ Clawson
Summary: Story 9 in my series. Georgiana Darcy nee Bingley struggles with motherhood as the rest of the younger generation enters adulthood and the marriage market.
1. The Wanderer Prologue

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point.

Otherwise, welcome back readers! This story is a bit longer than previous ones and my personal favorite, though _Knights of Derbyshire_ comes close. This story has a long sidetrack into Japan in the second half of the story, but as that means lots of Mugen and lots of Georgie fighting, I don't think many readers will object.

I've told by my beta (Brandy) to warn you that the Japanese sections, while not actually in Japanese, introduce a lot of names/titles/concepts. No, you will not have to memorize a glossary, but I'll occasionally leave notes at the bottom of chapters to add some historical commentary. Also, if any reader is an expert on forms of address in late Tokugawa Japan, please PM or email me, as I need your help to double-check things.

Last time in our series, (**spoilers ahead**) Geoffrey Darcy finished college and married Georgiana Bingley, though not necessarily in that order. About 8 months later (whoops) their daughter Alison was born. Charles Bingley III (Georgie's brother) left to do the Grand Tour of Europe, and Isabel Wickham met an American suitor named Mr. Franklin.

About a year has passed now (it's 1828), and you'll pick up where all of characters now stand in the next few chapters. This prologue opens the story in 1808, in a flashback from the POV of Miyoshi Shiro, a character from _Left to Follow_.

As always, you can learn more, find news and updates, and find out how to pre-order the first book in this series at my forums:

laughingman . web . aplus. net / phpbb/ index . php

Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 1 – The Wanderer (Prologue)

1808 (Bunka 5)

Miyoshi Shiro did not linger on the outskirts of town. He left as soon as the deed was done, a day later than his "official" public departure. It was the dead of night, but the moon was full and he could see well enough despite his lack of knowledge of the area.

After a day of traveling through the woods, he slowed his pace and returned to the road. The day previous it was still wet, but by now the heat had dried everything and the long road returned to its regular self. By midday his hakama was covered in kicked up sand and his straw sandals needed repair.

He turned off the beaten path again and found a stream easily enough. He did not remove either of his swords as he waded in up to his ankles, letting it cool his feet as he repaired his sandals, weeding the straw back together and knotting it elaborately enough to hold up until he could replace them properly.

"I can see you," he said as he returned to the shore and slipped back into his sandals. "Thief."

"Oi, how do you know I'm a thief?"

"I saw you rob those men."

"They said I was robbing them because they lost, fair and square."

"You changed the dice."

"Heh. You caught that, did you? Clever samurai."

It was the convict from the inn. Usually a rural inn was populated by colorful characters, though that generally amounted to drunks and disgraced ronin, and that night there were any number of them, taking shelter from the sudden downpour. Even the magistrate lowered himself to such common company to escape the rain. This man, however, Miyoshi had noticed. He called attention to himself. Most convicts who had escaped a death sentence tried to hide their tattooed limbs, but the thief wore nothing on his wrists or legs that could have so easily hidden them. His hair was wild and not properly shaved, his undoubtedly illegal sword at his side, he practically begged comers to question his presence, but that was not what Miyoshi was there to do.

"I didn't stick around," the thief said. He'd seated himself on the rock by the waterfall, his sword dangling off his side by the strap. "They might have blamed me for the murder."

Miyoshi said nothing, and went back to ignoring him. He only took a step before the thief appeared in front of him. How did he move so fast?

"So I've thought about it."

"Thought about what?"

"You're subtle, being seen leaving a day before someone took the magistrate's head, but not subtle enough for a ninja. And your clothes are too fine for a ronin or a yojimbo. Someone must have wanted him dead, but not enough to bring him to trial and see it out legally. The daimyo here doesn't have the audacity to do such a thing, so it must be someone high up who ordered the killing. Maybe the shogun himself."

In the many katas he'd so carefully studied, Miyoshi had not excluded the art of drawing the sword. He could do it quietly, or gracefully, with flair – or to kill before it was even fully drawn. Steel only met steel, as the thief had done the same.

"Oi, so you have a temper, too," the thief said. "Or just real cold-blooded."

Miyoshi freed himself from their sword lock and stepped back into proper stance. "I have no reason to kill you."

"Ha! You have plenty!" The thief laughed. He remained seemingly at ease, even though his blade was drawn. "I've insulted your honor, I've drawn a sword I have no right to carry, I've interrupted the work of a government assassin – "

"I am offering you your life."

"I don't recall giving it to you in the first place, samurai," he said with a wicked grin and made a mad dash in Miyoshi's direction. He barely had time to block and strike, but the thief was already gone. He was back on the rock behind him. "Faster, samurai!"

Miyoshi did move fast. He knew the thief was going to jump away again, and he was ready this time, but the thief ducked to the ground so much as to put himself with a hand on the ground, swiping with the other. He not only had speed, but incredible adaptability. Miyoshi frowned; he could not recall an opponent like him.

None of his moves worked, even the most complex. Every time an opening appeared, it proved just a phantom, because the thief was blocking, or gone, or swiping elsewhere. Miyoshi found himself grunting in frustration. Finally he backed away.

"Don't want to play?"

He raised his blade. No, he did not want to play, but the thief did. He thought about it. He had provided openings, accidentally, and the thief had either missed them or chose not to take them. Why would he do the latter? A good swordfight was over in one move. He lowered his blade again. An upperhand cut would kill the thief, but it would give him a solid opening. He could parry, or he could take it, and kill Miyoshi.

The thief didn't take it. He did parry, with his geta, which appeared to be reinforced by steel on the bottom. He kicked Miyoshi's sword down and then out of his hands. "Get it."

Miyoshi listened to him, but when he retrieved his blade, he replaced it carefully back into the case. "Do you want to fight me or not?"

"How stupid can you be?"

He grunted. "I mean, do you want to kill me or not?"

"Why would I want to kill you?"

"Then there's no reason for this."

"Maybe I just like fighting."

Miyoshi looked him in the eyes. He was serious. "You're insane."

"Or I want to have fun before I die. Either way."

"That's not a reason to wield a sword!"

"It is for me," he said, replacing his own blade. "Sa! Samurai, so serious." He kicked up the dust in front of him. "Fine. I don't have to play with you, though I would have paid for a bathhouse for you in return."

Despite his best intentions, he said, "You would have?"

The thief grinned. "I stole all that money, didn't I?"

* * *

The inn by the hot spring was not terribly expensive, but apparently everyone had had enough of being wet, because it was deserted, especially by night. The owner lit lamps for them as they sat in the water with their backs against the rocks.

Miyoshi certainly could have paid his way, but the thief insisted. "I like spending money more than having it."

"A wife wouldn't put up with that."

"Ha! I'd never let myself be tied down like that, anyway." The thief swam forward into the deeper water, and dunked his head, only to emerge screaming, "Sa! It's hot."

Miyoshi laughed as the thief paddled back to him. "What did you expect it to be?"

"So you can talk."

Most of the time, Miyoshi was silent. "Yes."

"Ask me a question, then."

"What did you do?"

He meant, of course, the rings. Six blue ring tattoos for six counts. The thief raised his hands up out of the water and looked at them. "I don't know. Not for every one. Something to do with shipping. Sa, who cares? I was twelve. I don't remember such things."

Miyoshi crossed his arms. "It's amazing you're still alive."

"I don't care how long I live my life, as long as no one tells me how to live it."

The thief was older than him, by at least a few years. Miyoshi could tell later that night as he felt the lines of the thief's body, with all of the scarring. The thief had been on the run most of his life, if not all of it. It didn't seem to bother him. He laughed off all serious commentary, and then there was no commentary. There was just a thief with very skilled hands, among other things, and a samurai aware only now of how unimportant and lonely he was just a day before.

Miyoshi rose like everyone else, with the sun, and was polishing his blade on the porch of the inn when the thief finally stumbled out, still disheveled.

"I don't know your name."

"What makes you think I have one?"

Miyoshi turned his blade to the side, letting the morning light shine on it and catch any imperfections in his cleaning. "You're too distinct for that. Someone must have named you."

"People call me things, but I wouldn't want to call them names," the thief said with a laugh. "Mugen."

"Mugen," he repeated. "What does that mean? Endless dreamer?"

"Something like that, I think." 'Mugen' laid back on the wooden porch, dangling a foot over the edge. "You must have an important name. Especially for a Fuma clan member."

He did wear his clan's _Mon_, but it was usually covered by his haori jacket, which was more anonymous. "Miyoshi Shiro."

"So now we have something to say at embarrassing moments."

Miyoshi smiled. "I suppose."

* * *

Miyoshi was on his way back to Edo; Mugen the thief had no set agenda. He would not admit to having any idea of a home. His life mimicked his fighting style: unpredictable, adaptable, and always in motion. Miyoshi practiced with him using bamboo. He had been trained by the best men in Edo, raised to be a great warrior even in peacetime, and his only outlet for his own desire to use his training was as an assassin. The shogun had found quick work for him, and rarely did his opponents even get a chance to raise their blades, much less put up a good fight. Mugen was refreshing. He was free of honor and duty. His only care was where his next meal was going to come from, and he usually managed. He was a good fisherman.

Mugen was roasting their dinner on a stick skewer when Miyoshi stood up, his hand on his blade. "It's the monk from the road passing by. The one who's been following us."

"What kind of samurai are you? That's no monk."

It did appear to be. The man walked slowly in purple robes, with his side sash and blackened bowl-shaped hat that blocked most of his head and face from the world. He stopped at the sound of Mugen's voice.

"Monk!" Miyoshi said. "Identify yourself or be gone."

"It's not worth it," Mugen said, still tending to their meal, his back to the monk. "You won't get the jump on me anyway."

"Call your samurai off."

"He's not my samurai."

Miyoshi tightened his hand around the hilt of his blade, but did step back, allowing the monk to step off the road and through the bushes to their resting spot. He removed his wide straw hat to reveal not a shaved monk's head but a Chinese queue, with the long ponytail tied around his head so as not to hang down. From deep within his robes, which proved to be a false covering, he removed a blade with a similar hilt to Mugen's. He tossed aside the staff and the last of his costume. "Stay out of this," he said to Miyoshi.

Mugen still did not get up, or face his apparent opponent. "Do as he says." Miyoshi stepped back again, but still did not entirely loosen his guard.

"Moo Shin," the Chinese said, "Don't disgrace the Master further by refusing me."

"You haven't made a request."

"You know what I want."

Mugen removed the second fish from the fire, and set it down on the plate. "It isn't mine to give."

"You will tell me the secret of San Soo, you disgraceful, hairy, disrespectful barbarian!" the Chinese shouted. "You never should have gotten it!"

"I never asked for it," Mugen said calmly.

"I will fight you for it."

"Bai, you will have to kill me," he said. Mugen was speaking in a more serious voice than Miyoshi had ever heard from him. "And then the secret of Dim Mak will die with me."

Dim Mak. _Death Touch_. Miyoshi knew that much. It was an old legend from the continent.

"I have decided," the Chinese 'Bai' said, "that it would be better for the world to lose great wisdom than for scum like you to have it!"

Bai charged much faster than Miyoshi could react, but Mugen merely tumbled forward, cartwheeling back to his feet and drawing his sword. But by now Miyoshi had time to cross blades with the Chinese fighter. "You are in the Pure Land," he said, "and you cannot go about killing its residents and insulting its people! You will show proper respect!"

"Respect for me?" Mugen said. "You kid yourself. No one has respect for me."

"Mugen – "

"Shiro, please."

Miyoshi withdrew, but did not sheath his sword. This was not his fight; Mugen made that clear enough. The only one interested in fighting seemed to be Bai. Would he stand by and let his friend be slaughtered? Was this foreigner capable of it?

"I don't want to fight you," Mugen said, "but I will if I have to. Master Hyuu said you would come after me."

"He thought so highly of me?"

"He didn't specify. I think you were all the same to him."

It had the desired effect, if that was truly what Mugen desired. Bai charged, and Mugen deflected, but didn't make a serious attempt at a counterstrike. He only saved himself, and just barely. They both moved so fast it was hard to even watch them. Jinjitsu was all linear, but they were beyond that. They were in every possible direction. Finally, Miyoshi knew where Mugen had trained. China. No wonder he wouldn't admit it.

Mugen's cry bought him back to reality. Their fight had progressed to the water, and Mugen fell back against the rock wall where the water trickled down, clutching his right arm.

"Mugen!"

"Not your fight," he growled, and tumbled out of the way in just enough time so that Bai only hit stone and not flesh. "Give me that."

"You shit, you don't deserve anything!" Bai cried, and swung again. Another near miss. He never stopped, even though they were both breathing heavy. He was throwing all he had into the fight. "I'll let you live if you tell me!"

"You won't understand it, so I won't waste my breath."

Mugen was using both arms again. He needed the left to balance himself and the right to swing, but his right was bleeding and his left was bruised from blocking the handle of Bai's blade. Miyoshi reluctantly restricted himself to watching; had he asked, Mugen would have done the same. Still, it was hard to watch.

Bai wasn't a better fighter. He was providing openings. Miyoshi knew enough about Mugen to know he could take them, but he let them all pass. He did not make a serious attempt at offense, just defense. From his expression, he was not drawing it out for fun. He truly didn't want to fight. Or was it something else? What was he waiting for?

It was terrible to watch Bai raise his blade and bash Mugen between the eyes with the metal hilt when his stab had failed. Mugen stumbled back into the stream, and bent on one knee, barely holding himself up with his sword in the mud.

"Are you ready to give it up now?"

Mugen looked up at the opponent towering over him. From Miyoshi's perspective, many feet away, he looked dazed, his face red and swollen. He spit out a little blood and wiped his mouth. "I – see it now." He blinked in the sunlight. "Yes. I'll show it to you."

"You'll tell me the secret behind San Soo?"

Mugen did not respond. His face was expressionless as he raised his body but not his sword, letting it drag in the water. He then tightened his grip and in a burst of energy charged at Bai, the water splashing in a wave from his blade tip – or it seemed that way, but something about it seemed unnatural as he raised it, and a wall of water hit Bai with Mugen's blade as he struck upwards, making what appeared to be a vertical cut from his torso to his head as he fell back.Mugen landed, just barely, on his feet from a complete backflip, and the water hit him hard. Too hard, and he collapsed.

"Mugen!" Miyoshi nearly trampled over Bai to get to his friend, lifting him out of the water. Mugen had lost all color, and his limbs were shaking, but he was alive. "Mugen."

"My head hurts," Mugen said, and coughed up blood. "Like a bitch. A mean one." With that, he gasped and went still in Miyoshi's arms.

Miyoshi picked him up, cradling him. He put Mugen's sword back in its scabbard and would not have concerned himself with Bai's body at all except that he nearly tripped over it. Aside from a small cut along his nose, there was not a mark on Bai.

* * *

The next village was large enough to have a temple, and there, a real priest tended to Mugen as Miyoshi dutifully watched over him. Mugen slept for two days before waking, and from that, had a remarkable recovery, beginning with his appetite. He was finishing off the stocks as if his life depended upon it, which was about the only thing about him that seemed normal. His forehead was swollen and bruised, and he spoke no words except requests for help and food.

Miyoshi sat by him patiently, asking nothing. It was a week before Mugen finally broke the silence with, "I didn't think it was fair, to kill him the regular way." He chuckled painfully. "I didn't do it for him, though. Chen Bai was always a bastard. I did it for Master Hyuu." He put down the now-empty rice bowl. "It was so hard. I didn't think I'd make it. I'd never done it before."

"The secret of San Soo?"

"So you were listening? Heh. Yes. I understand it, but I've never been able to do it. I don't know if I could do it again."

Miyoshi had heard legends of men who killed with their ki energy, with a single touch or move. "Why did a Chinese sensei give the secret to a foreigner, especially a Japanese one?"

"He told me I was the only one capable of learning it before he died," he said. "A very dubious honor, eh?"

Miyoshi would be honored to learn an ancient secret, passed down only to him based on raw talent. Mugen felt differently. He carried it around like a weight. Was that what made him so restless? Was it why he felt cursed to wander the land, without worth or occupation? When a samurai failed at something, they killed themselves. He could not imagine Mugen doing such a thing, or being able to. "Are you really the last person who knows this secret?"

"Yes. Until I tell someone else."

Miyoshi knew better than to ask. Instead he said, "You should take students."

"Sa! Can you see me doing such a thing? Having a school and uniforms? Throw in a wife and kids while you're at it."

No, he could not imagine that. "You'll have to do it on your own terms, then. Just like you do everything else."

This time, Mugen managed a weak smile. "Perhaps."

Mugen was a study in contradictions: reliable and unreliable at the same time. He traveled only as far as the outskirts of Edo, and then they parted with more pain than they had expected, or at least Miyoshi did.

That was not the end of their relationship. Mugen crossed paths with him on missions, and they enjoyed the time afterwards, when the deed was done and Miyoshi had some time before he had to report back. When he chose to end his life, Mugen did not support him in the idea, but supported him in escaping the shogun's samurai to pursue the idea. He did not follow him all the way north, as Miyoshi was turned away at every daimyo's castle. The shogun had given orders that no one should give him a place to commit seppuku, or help doing it honorably, upon pain of death, and so he kept going until, at last, he came to a village of despicable Ainu and their foreigner guests.

Mugen thought him changed when they met again, on the road to Nagasaki. As usual, he did not relent from expressing his opinions. "Those Ainu, they taught you your samurai honor was bullshit, did they not?"

"Not entirely."

Mugen huffed and sat down beside him. "They still did a job on you, anyway."

"Do you like it?"

"You're a little more tolerable now, _hai_."

Miyoshi had failed his master, the shogun. For that, he deserved death, and he dared to deserve a better death than the one his master decreed for him. "My death done my way," he tried to explain to Mugen, but Mugen refused to understand. He had to give the honor of taking his head to Brian Maddox, the limping barbarian, instead. Miyoshi had found over the past year that despite his many shortcomings and unrighteous birth he was an honorable man, but he was not a countryman, and he was not Mugen.

For the first time in two years, Miyoshi did not look forward to his death. He clenched himself into a ball and Mugen held him, but said nothing. In the morning, after giving away his long sword and the endless horror of an unending night, he rose to wash himself to find Mugen already up and sitting on the porch. In the room beside them, the foreigners had not yet risen.

"Did you finish your death poem?" Mugen said, even though Miyoshi had never expressed an interest in writing one. He was not to die in battle. He was to die to restore his honor.

"Should I have written one, do you think?"

"If I knew for sure when I was going to die, I would not spend the night before writing poetry," he said.

"How would you spend it? Getting drunk? Gambling? With a whore?"

Mugen just said, "Like we spent last night."

Miyoshi, clothed all in traditional white, knelt behind him and hugged him tightly. Mugen choked out a sob. Miyoshi waited until he was finished, and Mugen wiped his face on his sleeve.

It was time to go. The Maddoxes would be up soon.

"I've been there. Nirai Kanai."

"What?"

"The pathway to the Other World. I was there twice, but I came back. It's not so bad, I suppose, unless you get unlucky and your ancestors turn out to be jerks."

Miyoshi laughed, and Mugen did the same. That was Mugen's parting gift to him; it made it possible to go.

Chapter 2 – The Wayward Bride

* * *

Notes: (they will not always be this long)

Bunka 5 is the old Japanese date for 1808. The first half of the 1800's are the middle Tokugawa Period, named after the shogun dynasty's family name, Tokugawa. Founded by Tokugawa Ieyasu in 1603, the reign of this family would last until 1867, when Emperor Meiji was restored to the throne and Japan opened to foreigners.

Also known as the Edo period, the Tokugawa reign brought two hundred years of peace to Japan with a formalized system of rule under the shogun and the daimyos (nobles). The emperor was of little political significance but was still in place. Japan was demilitarized except for daimyo and their attendant samurai, and the country was closed to all foreigners except in Nagasaki, and then only the Dutch East India Company and certain Chinese traders were permitted.

Towards the end of the period, the population explosion amount the peasantry and the lack of purpose of the samurai warrior class (who were not permitted to have other occupations and received a government stipend) meant inflation and increasing lawlessness among the bankrupt samurai.

_Nirai Kanai_ refers to the Okinawan afterlife. Ryukyu (later Okinawa and the islands) was originally an independent kingdom that was annexed by Emperor Meiji at the end of the 1800's. Mugen's references to Ryukyuan culture indicate he has either traveled there or is from there.

_San Soo_ refers to a lesser-known form of Chinese martial arts (as opposed to Shaolin). Its practices are partially fictionalized in this story.

_Sa!_ - basically means "Shit!"

_Mon_ - the insignia of a particular samurai clan, appearing in white on the shoulders of a jacket.

To learn more, search Wikipedia for "Edo Period" or "Tokugawa Shogunate."

* * *


	2. The Wayward Bride

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Posting twice weekly, sometimes more.

* * *

Chapter 2 – The Wayward Bride

1828

"You have no pressing matters than this?"

Isabella Wickham smiled at her cousin and laid a gentle hand on her host's. "I wanted to see you. I might not see you again until after the child is born."

Georgiana Darcy (nee Bingley) put her other hand on her much expanded belly. Only a lot of pressure on Geoffrey's part had convinced their parents that they would remain in Lancashire until the last month of confinement, and then return to Pemberley for the tail end and the birth. But this was Isabel's day. "What romantic adventures has he planned for you?"

"France, then Spain, Greece, and Italy. Maybe we'll see Charles. Is he still in Naples?"

"He might well be. Last we heard, he had not yet decided if he was to move on. He very much prefers the coast there. He does send his best, and his apologies about missing both of us at this time. But he seems happy there. He had this unexplained melancholia at Cambridge that even Eliza couldn't explain, though I confess my attentions were elsewhere. Alison! No!"

"What?" Geoffrey Darcy charged in the room, bowing quickly to Isabel and his wife. "Miss Wickham. Georgie. Where's she gone now?"

"She's on the bed."

He turned to his daughter. Alison Darcy, aged seventeen months, was still unsteady on her feet, but steady enough to make everything her playground, and had succeeded in pulling herself onto the mattress, high up as it was. She was throwing the sheets around to the best of her ability.

"No harm done. What safer place for a child is there than a bed?" Geoffrey took his daughter's tiny hands as she got to her feet on the uneven mattress, and she giggled at him. "At least it's cushioned."

"Until she bounces right off it."

"She's yet to do that. Maybe she just wants a better view of her mother. Do you, darling?" He picked her up almost sideways and let her arms fly out to her mother. "Who's that? Say 'Mama.'"

"Mama," she said. "Mama!"

Georgie couldn't resist a smile and kissed her daughter. "Your very whale-ish mama."

"I never said you resemble a whale."

"Just because you didn't say it doesn't mean it isn't true."

He leaned over and kissed her. "I'll put Alison down. Izzy, I'll see you at the wedding."

His cousin blushed. "Thank you. Geoffrey."

"Isabel."

He left, taking his daughter with him.

"I hope Mr. Franklin is half the father Geoffrey is," Isabel said. "I would be quite satisfied with just half."

"Some fathers do dote on their daughters. Others take pride in their sons. Mr. Franklin seems of the composition that he is a man who will do at least one," Georgie said. Mr. Saul Franklin, Isabel's betrothed, had gone through great lengths to dazzle her very discerning brother, and in the process the larger family had met him at least a few times, Geoffrey and Georgiana far more prior to her retreating from public. He was judged to be a very amiable but sensible man (even for an American), and he showed no desire to return to his home country, but longed to set up a house in Brighton or some other picturesque place and still keep his fashionable house in London. George would be welcome there when he was in London, which was most fortunate considering the Bradleys now had four children and there was little room for him with his mother and stepfather on Gracechurch Street. He stayed mainly in Cambridge, but this year would be studying at the famed University of Paris medical school, a very advisable course of action for future doctors who wished to have a license before they were thirty. It was that or St. Andrews, but Dr. Maddox encouraged him to pursue studies on the Continent, and he was persuaded once he knew his sister was in the care of a husband. The particular future husband in question he held his approval on until even his Uncle Darcy was ganging up on him with the rest of the crowd to see sense and let his sister go.

The servant knocked. Isabel did not have much time, and she really ought to be in London, doing last-minute preparations. Almost all of her family was there, excepting those abroad and Geoffrey, who would accompany her back. "I should be readying for the journey." She hugged Georgiana as best she could, and they said their goodbyes and dual congratulations. On her way out she passed Geoffrey, who shut the door behind him.

"My trunk is packed and Alison is asleep," he said. "By all logic, I should be ready to go."

"I will be fine," she said, leaning back onto the pillow placed behind her in the armchair. "And if I am not, you will hear me scream your name all the way from Town, so there's no need to worry."

"I wouldn't go if there was no obligation," he said. Geoffrey was groomsman. Saul Franklin was not from London, most of his friends were only acquaintances, but he had formed an easy friendship with Geoffrey over the year of the courtship and engagement. Geoffrey knew when Saul asked him to stand up with him, it was a show of good faith for George, and Geoffrey was happy to take part in it. "We would try getting George drunk before the ceremony to keep him calm, but he's such a moody drunk."

"He is. A cheap one, though. It wouldn't cost you much wine."

He grinned and kissed her, letting it linger. "I will be back as soon as I can."

"Try at least to stay for the entirety of the ceremony. Mr. Franklin would appreciate it." She added, "I will be fine."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Geoffrey left with a smile on his face. Georgie, despite her uncomfortable situation, was able to settle in enough to doze in the chair more peacefully than she had been previously.

* * *

The Darcy townhouse was not at ease – at least, not in the certain corner of the study where a window gave a good view of the street.

"He's late."

"There is a long Darcy tradition of late arrivals to weddings," Darcy said, still focusing his pen on the ledger in front of him. "He was nearly the last person to arrive for his own. What do you expect of him?" He added, "And you are standing by my window in a very aggressive manner, Mr. Wickham."

George Wickham, either second or third depending on perspective, huffed and looked to his uncle. "What do you mean?"

"That is my window and if anyone is going to sulk by it, it should be me. Yet I have found more sensible things to do with my time, boring as some might find them."

"I don't find mathematics boring."

"There is more to life than facts and numbers." He looked up. "I never imagined I would be saying that."

"You're turning into Grandfather Bennet."

"George Wickham, don't you dare!" A grey-haired Fitzwilliam Darcy, wearing spectacles for reading, could look old but still very imposing. "Well, at least it got a smile out of you. I haven't seen one in a decade."

George raised his glass to his uncle.

"One would think that you would be relieved of your sister being removed from the mortal peril that is the marriage market," Darcy said, closing his massive ledger and ringing for more tea. "All of those odious dances you now must only attend someday in hopes of a bride for yourself."

"_Uncle_."

"The day will come, I assure you. Just try not to insult your future bride while she is within earshot, as you may come to regret it." He looked up as the door opened. "Grégoire."

"Uncle Grégoire."

"So glum in here," Grégoire Bellamont-Darcy said, "just days before a momentous occasion."

"If the groomsman ever arrives and brings the bride," George mumbled and took another sip from his glass.

Darcy gestured to the open wine bottle for his brother, but Grégoire picked it up, inspected the label carefully, and set it back down. "Not a good year for that vineyard."

"I was assured it was very good."

"Perhaps by our English standards, yes," George said.

"I am honored to be part of this family, but I feel no obligation to swear allegiance to English standards of wine selection," Grégoire said as his son came charging into the room. Patrick Bellamont was nearly nine, and quite capable of escaping the servant's grasp.

"Saint Barnabas!"

"Saint Barnabas is not present with us; however he may be in the kingdom of heaven. Address the others first."

His son groaned impatiently and bowed. "Uncle Darcy. Cousin George."

"Master Patrick," Darcy replied. "What is this about?"

The boy turned to his father. "Saint Barnabas!"

"Yes, yes, I suppose it is."

"Can I have candy?"

"Ask your mother."

"She always says no!"

"Because you'll ruin your teeth." But he quickly buckled under the weight of his son's displeasure, and kissed him on the head. "Fine. One sweet – and you brush your teeth with the powder afterwards."

"Tanks, Pa!" With no further explanation, he excused himself by darting out of the room as quickly as he came.

Grégoire sighed and settled into one of the chairs. "I used to give him sweets on Saint's Days, and had the misfortune to make a game of having him guess whose it was. Now he's gone and memorized every Saint's Day on the calendar, even the most minor, if it means a candy. I cannot decide what is better – having great knowledge of religion or having teeth."

"Teeth," Darcy answered.

"Teeth," George said just as quickly.

Grégoire just smiled and shook his head.

* * *

At the Bradley house, quiet grumbling was not the order of the day.

"How could she! The nerve of that girl," Lydia Bradley (nee Wickham, nee Bennet) shrieked, pulling the shawl out of the reach of Isabel's cat. Fortunately the creature was quite old, and did not put up much of a fight. "Running out on her own wedding. What will Mr. Franklin think?"

"I hardly think she would do such a thing," Elizabeth said with a knowing look to Mary. The Bennet sisters had gathered at Gracechurch Street at Mr. Bradley's request, to help with the children as Isabel's last things were packed for storage. The only one missing was Jane Bingley, who was on her way to Lancashire to care for her daughter for the duration of the wedding. Mr. Bennet himself was similarly excused, as he was advised that unnecessary traveling was not good for his health. "She's just gone to see her cousin."

"And a fine time she picked to do it."

"Izzy's getting married," Kitty Townsend said. "How can you not be excited?"

"I'm sure Jane would assure us that there are different types of excitement when it is time for the first daughter to be married," Elizabeth said. She looked down at the cat, who merely purred at her. "Besides, the groomsman is also required for the ceremony."

"Oh, he could find another groomsman. What is she doing to me?"

"Lydia," Kitty said, "you are in danger of turning into Mama."

Lizzy giggled, and Mary merely said, "You are."

Lydia did not find it so funny, and it was hard to keep her in a contained mood, much less a good one.

"Mama," Julie Bradley, the eldest of the Bradley children, appeared at the door. "George is home. Oh, and another gift's come."

Her mother sighed. "I don't know where we're going to put it. Why would they send it here and not to Mr. Franklin's like sensible people? Tell George to put it in his room."

"I saw it. It's all frilly with a lace bow. It'll get all dusty."

"Then tell him to find somewhere else!"

"There is still some room in the green trunk by the stairs. You can put it there," Elizabeth suggested, and Julie curtseyed to her aunts and ran to do her mother's bidding. The walls of the Bradley house were not very thick, and they could hear the sound of heavy boots ascending the stairs. Finally George Wickham appeared at the open door and bowed. "Mother. Aunt Darcy. Aunt Bertrand. Aunt Townsend."

"When are you due back at the Darcys?" Lydia said in a very measured tone.

He gave her a look. "I'm not." George was known to spend most of his time in town elsewhere, but he always slept at Gracechurch. "Aunt Darcy, I am to inform you that you're to dine with Uncle and Aunt Kincaid tonight."

"Thank you, George." She was secretly grateful for the excuse to leave, though it might have her sisters squabbling again without her supervision – but when had she been any good at that? Now that it came time to do it in the traditional, drawn-out way, Lydia was a bit more sentimental about giving her daughter up, which in this case translated to nerves that were approaching a Mrs. Bennet-like scale. There were too many details for her to be unsatisfied with; maybe Isabel had had an ulterior motive for going to Lancashire.

On the way out, she encountered Mr. Bradley and Brandon Bradley behind him.

"How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it could be," Elizabeth said with a little smile, and was gone.

* * *

"I hope Mrs. Bradley doesn't smash the package I sent," Lady Caroline Maddox said to her husband. "Queen takes rook."

Sir Daniel Maddox smiled. "Knight takes queen." As usual, his wife moved the chess pieces for him. "And I'm sure she won't."

"You trapped me into giving up my queen!"

"You always overuse it," he said.

"There's nothing wrong with liking the queen over her far less useful companion. Knight to 4h."

"Until you've lost her. Bishop to 4a. And check. Possibly mate; I forget." He was no master, but simply being able to play based entirely on memory of moves was impressive. It also gave him something to do with his day.

She toppled her own king over for him. "Am I really that predictable?"

"You are quite capable of surprising me," he said. "Just perhaps not at chess." Caroline huffed and stood up, but he caught her passing hand and kissed it. "What time is it?"

"Nearly six; and your brother's still making a ruckus in the courtyard." She turned to the window, where she could watch Brian Maddox, armored, dueling her younger son, who was in similar costume.

He chuckled. "The smell of food will bring him in. Put a dish by the door."

"Like a hungry dog."

"I'd never thought of it that way. Nor will I admit it to him."

"He's turning our son into a maniac."

"Danny has permission to choose his recreations as he pleases, provided they do not involve drinking, gambling, or anything else that would get boys like him into trouble. That limits it down to reading or fighting, and the latter provides a great deal more exercise." He stood up, and took his wife's arm as they left the study, only to hear their daughter's voice in the distance.

"It's not fair."

"What isn't fair?"

She turned to them and curtseyed. "Papa. Mama. Frederick is bragging about all of the fine places he's to visit on the Continent. Why does he get to tour and I do not?"

"Isabel Wickham is to tour the Continent, I understand," her mother said. "When you do find a husband – and Daniel, don't say anything – make sure to mention it as part of the celebratory travels."

"Frederick doesn't have to get married."

"Frederick studied for three years in a prestigious University," Dr. Maddox said. "Or, I assume he did something else with his time, but he was there for a full three years, and courtship is much shorter than that. If you look at it that way, your trip requires far less hours of anticipation."

"Provided you ever consent to her being courted, much less marry someone," Brian Maddox said, announcing his entrance as he pulled off his helmet, his breathing still heavy. "That'll be the day."

Emily curtseyed quickly, mumbled an acknowledgment to her uncle, and ran back upstairs.

"Now look what you've done," Caroline said. "You go and reassure her that Daniel is a sensible father and she will find someone she loves and is a suitable match, or there'll be no dinner for you."

"What am I, a dog?"

Caroline put a hand over her mouth, but Daniel Maddox didn't bother with the attempt to contain his laughter.

...Next chapter - Chapter 3

* * *


	3. The Yankee

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Posting twice weekly, sometimes more.

* * *

Chapter 3 – The Yankee

Despite all the worrying, the carriage from Lancashire did arrive on time the next morning, stopping first at the Darcy house, where Isabel was reunited with her brother. The final preparations could begin, with only two days to the wedding and everyone in Town or arriving.

That night, the Darcys invited the Bingleys over. Bingley seemed relieved for the distraction, with his wife up north and his older daughter nearing the last stages of her confinement.

"Darcy," Bingley said as the servants removed his coat and hat. "We've been friends these many years and I would enjoy your company. That said, where on earth is your son?"

"He was resting from the journey. He should be down – " But Bingley went past him, up the stairs. "He said she's fine!"

"Papa doesn't care," Eliza Bingley said. "Uncle Darcy."

"Miss Bingley."

"Did you hear? Charles's gift came in time." They wrote Charles Bingley III immediately after the engagement, but estimated that it would require luck to get a response from him before the wedding.

"Really? What is it?"

"We don't know? It came wrapped. It is sort of shaped like something that is framed, though."

"Italy is known for its art," he said, and she excused herself. "Master Edmund."

Edmund Bingley, about to enter his final year at Oxford provided he didn't apply for a Fellowship, bowed to his uncle. He had entered school so much younger than his brother and cousins, and he did not look like a man who would be a graduate in a little less than a year. Despite being of full height, his features were still very boyish, much like his father's, though he lacked the smile. "Uncle Darcy."

"Getting a head start on your studies, are you?" he said, referring to the book in Edmund's hands. "Some people have fun at University, too."

Edmund gave him a half-smirk and moved on. Darcy sighed. Never would he have imagined he would be encouraging a young man to party more and study less, but that day had apparently come.

Bingley returned with a satisfied look on his face, followed by a still sleepy-eyed Geoffrey. "Father," he bowed. The bell rang for dinner; the rest of the family quickly joined them. There was no one who was not old enough to be invited to the table. Anne, the only one out and the most mature of them, was dressed suitably and acted suitably, but Sarah had her nose in a book even at the table until her mother nudged her to put it away. Cassandra, just fifteen, was the one with flair and ribbons and even a small scent of forbidden perfume. Her parents weren't thrilled, but they saw no reason to discourage her from her interests within a respectable round. Unfortunately, all of the children now had a trump card – Mrs. Georgiana Darcy. Though she had retired her wild ways, they all knew the story of Geoffrey's rescue a little too well, and compared to her exploits, a little perfume was nothing to make a fuss about. This harsh reality annoyed Darcy to the point where his only relief was mentioning it to Bingley as many times as possible.

"Where is your little monster?" he said, referring to Monkey and not Georgiana.

"You'll be pleased to know his attentions were required elsewhere," Bingley said.

* * *

"What is it?" Georgie said to Monkey, who had been sleeping peacefully on her extended stomach, but came to alert very quickly. "Did you feel it kick?" Still in a bit of haze herself from her nap, she focused on the screaming child running in her direction. Monkey leapt off her just in time to get away from Alison's outstretched hands, climbed up onto the furniture, and found a suitable place on the top of the cabinet, where he could scream back at her as he liked. "Monkey, she's trying to make friends with you. She just doesn't understand how." She leaned over and picked up her daughter. "Aren't you? Don't you like Monkey?"

"Mama!"

Georgie kissed her daughter. "I love you, too." She looked up to see her mother entering.

"Oh dear! Did she wake you?"

"No, Mama, it's fine." There was no room for Alison to climb up into her lap anymore, though the toddler tried her best. Instead she managed to settle down next to her in the armchair, hugging her stomach. "She just frightened Monkey again. I wasn't even meaning to fall asleep - "

"Let yourself rest. With little children you rarely get the excuse," Jane Bingley said. "The mail's come. There is a package with Italian postage."

"Charles is insistent upon spoiling Alison before she knows the meaning of the word," she said, and put a hand on her stomach as she felt the baby kick. Alison felt it too, and responded by hitting back. "No, Alison, don't do that."

"I'll take her," her mother said, lifting Alison up high in the air like she liked to be before setting her down on her lap.

"So whom does she favor? Or I suppose it's obvious." Her daughter had her red hair. "She smiles more."

"You smiled as an infant. You just didn't speak at this age," her mother said as Alison grabbed her nose. "I must confess that she does remind me a little of young Geoffrey."

"Hopefully, as he is her father. Alison, say 'grandma.'"

Alison giggled and said, "Mawa."

"'Grandma.'"

"Gam. Ma."

"Close enough," Jane said, and kissed her granddaughter.

Eventually Alison tired herself out, and was handed off to Nurse. Only when she was gone did Georgie say, "Am I terrible mother?"

Her own mother appeared genuinely shocked at the question. "Why in the world would you think that?"

"I worry about it – and then I feel bad for worrying so much. I thought it was supposed to come naturally."

"Georgie," her mother said, taking her nervous hand, "it _has_ come naturally. Anyone can see that. We all worry excessively about our children. No matter how old they get."

Georgie tried to smile, but she just couldn't. Geoffrey had been so good about hiding it from everyone. She felt like she was betraying him. "I – get upset sometimes. I did after Alison was born. I don't know why." She swallowed. "Geoffrey says I said some ... irrational things. When I was upset."

"I'm sure you didn't mean them," her mother said. Monkey finally climbed down from his perch and chose a new one over the side of the armchair. Her mother hesitated before saying, "I won't say I was never frustrated or upset before and after each birth, or that your aunts weren't, but your Aunt Maddox – she went through some very hard times after Emily was born."

Georgie looked down and scratched Monkey behind his ears, which made him squeal happily. "I didn't know that."

"You know how Dr. Maddox is so confidential. We were actually a bit surprised when he told us about it – Louisa, Charles, and me. _He_ was upset that he couldn't be home all the time because he was in his new position with the Prince, and even with a full Nursing staff to care for Emily and Frederick, someone had to be there for Caroline. So we visited for a while and it seemed to pass. And it happened again when she miscarried, and again with Danny. By then we were used to it, or we were at least expecting it, but it was still very hard. So in other words, I thoroughly blame your father for anything you might be suffering, because it clearly is from the Bingleys and not the Bennets."

Georgie managed to smile at that. "But – Aunt Maddox wanted to be a mother, didn't she?"

"It surprised all of us that she did, actually. She'd never expressed such sentiments until she was showing. And she was much older than you when she settled down. Nearly ten years older. She was worried that she was too old like we were worried you were too young. But she wasn't and you weren't. It turns out you were just the right age after all." She frowned when she saw her daughter grimace. "What is it?"

"It's just a pain. The midwife said they are false pains. I had them with Alison, too." She opened her eyes. "Still frightening." She looked up. "Why are you smiling?"

Jane Bingley was covering her mouth to hide it, but apparently not well enough. "This is the first time you've _ever_ admitted to being frightened. Even when you were a child, and Eliza was hiding under the bed because of a thunderstorm, you were laughing at her."

"How the mighty have fallen," Georgie said, and leaned in to her mother's embrace.

* * *

"Patrick! Yer put dat down roi nigh!"

As intimidating as Caitlin Bellamont could be, she did lower her voice for the supper table, and Patrick giggling, causing the spoon to fall off his nose and land on the porcelain plate with a loud crash.

"That's not for your nose," Grégoire said, taking the spoon away from his son, and bowing his head to his host. "He's not used to so much silverware."

Lord Kincaid just smiled and Georgiana Kincaid put her hand over her mouth to hide hers.

"What else scon oi supposed ter do wi' it? Ah've already got two!" Patrick protested. He did, indeed, have two other spoons at the setting. Patrick was too young for the other formal tables, but the Kincaids made an exception.

"It's fur yer puddin', ye divit," his cousin Robert said.

"Robert!" Georgiana said sternly. "Language!"

"Aam 'spikin English."

"You know very well what I mean. Now apologize to your cousin."

Patrick could barely contain himself as Robert frowned and said, "I'm sorry, Patrick."

"Patrick," Grégoire said, "it's rude to not take your cousin seriously. Apologize to him."

"Pa!"

Now it was Robert's turn to laugh.

"This is going to be endless, isn't it?" William Kincaid said to his wife.

Even she was still grinning despite herself. "I'm afraid so."

* * *

Geoffrey rose early the next morning and treated himself to a good breakfast before heading out for his haberdasher appointment. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, which was rare and unfortunate, considering how often he saw his sisters nowadays, but waking up alone seemed to make him grumpy. _Don't turn into Father_, he chided himself as he took his walking stick and donned his hat.

"You're late," George Wickham said as he entered the shop.

Geoffrey looked at his watch. He was on time. "You're early. And a grump."

"My sister's getting married."

"So? Oh, I'd forgotten; grumpy is your version of _excited_." He slapped him on the back. "Where's the groom?"

"Late."

"I am not," Mr. Saul Franklin said as he emerged from behind the changing curtain, wearing most of his wedding suit but lacking the cravat and certain other details. He turned to Geoffrey. "Mr. Darcy. Am I supposed to defend myself or will that just make it worse?"

"I think our having this conversation is making it worse," he replied with a grin.

"How's Georgie?" George interrupted.

"The same as I left her, hopefully. Which is well, considering."

"I apologize for the timing of everything," Mr. Franklin said. "I told you that already, didn't I?"

"No matter. I wouldn't have waited an extra day for my own wedding."

"You _couldn't_ wait an extra day for your wedding," George said, taking the coffee that was offered to him. To Franklin's unasked question, he said, "There was a bit of a scheduling conflict."

"What's a _sheduling_ conflict?"

"You can't make fun of _our_ accents in _our_ country."

"I belong to this country. After all, unless you consider me an Englishman by virtue of this marriage, then you will have to consider your sister an American."

George spit out his coffee; Geoffrey just laughed.

* * *

The final pre-wedding celebration was held at the Darcy townhouse. Lydia complained that they simply did not have the room (or, likely, the money she wanted to spend) at their house at Gracechurch Street to host everyone.

Mr. Franklin was seated beside his bride, and his face seemed to light up whenever she smiled at him.

"They really are in love, you know," Geoffrey whispered to George.

"I know," he replied, as if it was the hardest thing he'd ever have to say.

"You'll just be gaining a brother, not losing your sister. And L-rd knows you could use one your age. I can't always be the one trying to cheer you up and everyone else has given up on the endeavor." He added, "Georgie said her wedding gift to them, which shall remain unknown to them at this point, is that if Saul ever hurts your sister, she'll kill him."

George did smirk at that. "She'd have to wait until she leaves confinement. Nonetheless I find it an acceptable gift."

Mr. Bradley had been slow at first to accept Mr. Franklin, having fought against his countrymen in the war in 1812. Eventually he did warm to him, and he raised his glass in a toast.

"I have known Isabella since she was a small child," Mr. Bradley said, "and am quite pleased at the woman she has become. If I had any part in it, and have any right to call myself her father, then I do so, and will even let my daughter marry a Yankee, of all people!"

There was a round of laughter. Even Lydia joined them. Mr. Franklin just blushed.

After dinner there was some more revelry. Anne and Sarah played a duet on the pianoforte, and as the rest of them played cards, Geoffrey retreated for a few minutes to the balcony with his drink. There he found Mr. Franklin, briefly escaping all of the attention. It struck Geoffrey then that perhaps the man was lonely; he had no family of his own to add to the table, and no opportunities to conference with his future wife in any sort of privacy. "Saul."

"Geoffrey."

"I'm not supposed to tell you this, but if you ever hurt Izzy, my wife has sworn to kill you. Though George will probably try first."

Mr. Franklin just nodded. "It's been frustrating at times, but given the family history, he has every reason to be paranoid about it." Of course, George could take paranoia to unreasonable levels under stress, but Geoffrey wouldn't say that out loud – and if Franklin didn't know, Isabel would tell him soon enough. "If my sister was alive, I would be mighty protective of her."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"Three. And a brother. Scarlet fever, all of them. I was very young – I hardly remember it. I only escaped because I'd been sent to school in New York. And before you say it, nothing was wrong with the old York."

"You stole my joke," Geoffrey said. "I am sorry."

"There's no reason to be." He swallowed the last of his wine. "So I will tolerate one brother-in-law. I even like him."

"Be a good husband – which I've no doubt you'll be – and he'll feel the same about you, if he doesn't already. He should, for the promise of getting him and Izzy out of that terrible house on Gracechurch Street." He swallowed and looked around. "Sometimes I shout unintentionally. Was I shouting when I said that?"

"No," Franklin whispered.

"Because I was talking about the quality of the architecture."

"Of course."

"And the ... limited storage space."

"Yes." The American hid his grin behind his glass. "Of course."

* * *

The next morning, in the very same church were her mother was married, Isabella Wickham was given away by her brother in front of a much larger audience than the original Wickham marriage (though a Darcy was still the groomsman). George kissed her on the cheek and turned away so she wouldn't see his tears and took his place beside Mr. Bradley and his mother.

Before the sight of the bishop, the congregation, and G-d, Mr. and Mrs. Saul Franklin were joined in holy matrimony. The match was met with enthusiastic cheers from the crowd, for it hardly need be said that it was a good match (if to a Yankee) in all respects: monetarily, socially, and emotionally, for they did have obvious affection for one another to the point where Mr. Franklin chose to end the ceremony by kissing his bride before they even left the altar.

The crowds moved about so that Darcy and Grégoire were the last ones in the church, aside from the bishop, who was going in the opposite direction to his study.

"She'll do well," George said, appearing at their side rather suddenly. "She deserves to do well."

"I've never heard you say it so confidently," Darcy said, "even when we were saying it all along."

"Not _all_ along, Darcy," George said, doffed his hat, and walked away from them.

The wedding meal was brief, as the bride and groom had a boat to catch, and they were seen to the coach that would take them to the docks.

"My baby's gone," Lydia whimpered and leaned into Mr. Bradley.

"Fortunately you managed a few more, so we can repeat the painful ceremony of giving them away."

"Oh, don't you even say that! But this will be so good for George. Maybe he'll relax a bit now and even have a bit of fun at Cambridge like all the other boys do. He deserves it."

He nodded. "He did such a good job of worrying after her. I wonder if Mr. Franklin is up to the task?"

Behind them, George turned to Geoffrey, but couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"Now you're free to go finish up your studies all you please in France or Scotland or wherever," Geoffrey said, "and then go about the more important business of finding yourself a wife."

"What would you know of it? You did not have to look very hard. It was practically arranged."

"If it had been so easy, you wouldn't have had all of those years of teasing me about it," Geoffrey reminded him. He turned to his father, who had joined them to get a better view of the departing coach. "Father. Uncle Grégoire. What is it?" They were both pale.

George noticed it too. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Darcy and Grégoire looked at each other, and back at him. "Where's your hat?" Darcy said.

"What are you talking about? On my head." George touched it to make sure it was there.

"The other one," Grégoire said. "The one you had on in the church. It was different. Taller."

"You were mistaken. This is my tallest hat." George looked at them queerly. "What is this about?"

His Uncle Darcy swallowed and said, "Nothing. We were mistaken."

"Yes." But Grégoire crossed himself nonetheless.

...Next chapter - Chapter 4

* * *


	4. A Walk in the Dark

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy! _Though, probably not for a couple of chapters, as the angst content here is pretty high._

Posting twice weekly, sometimes more.

* * *

Chapter 4 - A Walk in the Dark

"Papa!" There were not many adults that Alison recognized without a hint, but Geoffrey Darcy was certainly one of them. She appeared from behind the great staircase of Pemberley and ran to greet him. Gawain trailed protectively behind her.

"Alison," he said, instantly picking her up. "You're getting so big!" He kissed her cheek. It had only been three weeks, but it seemed like much longer. While they returned from the wedding, Georgie returned to Pemberley with her mother's help for the end of her confinement. "I won't be able to hold you much longer – and do this." He turned her upside down, kissed her, and put her right side up again, which made her squeal. "Can you say Grandpapa yet?" he asked as his father appeared at his side, and the servants rushed to take the coat of the master. "Try it. 'Grandpapa.'"

"Granepa."

"Grandpapa."

She leaned far over, and pointed at the hound. "Gawan!"

Mr. Darcy laughed. "Indeed." He accepted the offer of his granddaughter, as Geoffrey inquired after his wife and disappeared up the stairs before anyone could protest. Mrs. Bingley emerged from the sitting room. "Mr. Darcy. Oh, thank goodness. There she is. Lizzy! How was the wedding? And where is Geoffrey?"

"It was wonderful," Elizabeth said as she entered, and looked amused by the spectacle of Darcy trying to keep hold of his overeager climber of a granddaughter. "Where is Geoffrey?"

"I suspect he is searching for his wife," Darcy said as Alison grabbed a lock of his hair. "Ow. Alison, how am I to be an obliging grandfather if you keep doing that? You get that from your mother."

"Do not be ridiculous," Elizabeth said. "Geoffrey was just like her at that age. And she has his smile."

"She does," Jane said. "And if you've any worry that you're not properly spoiling her, know that her godfather is managing it all the way from the Continent."

"I can't imagine what he'll do when he comes home," Elizabeth said.

"If he ever comes home," Jane said, but it was hard to tell if she was joking.

* * *

The maid nearly dropped her tray when Geoffrey came crashing in through the doors of his own chambers, and then he was forced to spend a full minute assuring her that it was quite all right and not the end of her service to the family before he could properly greet his wife, who rose from the armchair to greet him. "I missed you," she said as they embraced, and he stroked her belly. "How was the wedding?"

"Fine. I think Izzy will do very well," he said, and heard the door close behind him. Only then did he give her a proper kiss. "I told Mr. Franklin about your gift."

"We did give them a proper gift. A tea set, wasn't it?"

"Yes. But more important is what comes from the heart. Or the, uhm, fist." He made a little gesture with his closed fist. "How are you?"

"Gigantic."

"If that is your only complaint, we are doing quite well."

"We? What are you doing?"

"This," he said, and kissed her again, so much so that it left her breathless. It was a well-cultivated talent.

"That – makes up for part of it," she said. "But not all."

He raised his eyebrows. "Then I will have to work on it."

* * *

The next few weeks passed as easily as was possible. This time Georgie was more accepting of her mother and aunt's attentions and more willing to rest. Though they had only a faint notion of her time, they were hoping the baby was not going to be early. The Kincaids and the Bellamonts stayed at Pemberley, so all three Darcy siblings of the older generation were together.

"What did you think of Grégoire's last column, Brother?"

Darcy stammered as they walked along the garden path. "Which one?"

"The one last Sunday. I thought you were subscribed."

"I am," he said. "It was – enlightening."

Grégoire smiled. "Darcy, you are not obligated to read every last one of them. They are Papist nonsense, after all."

"They are not," he defended. "And I do enjoy them, but I confess I've been remiss. The last few months have been very busy and I find that sometimes I lack ... the comprehension required."

His brother just nodded. "I am bordering on the esoteric. I don't know what came over me. My editor insisted that it was better to run something new than repeat one, even if he does not understand it himself. Perhaps I should give answering questions another try."

"You can always take a Sabbatical, if you tire of it so," Georgiana Kincaid said.

"I've no inclination to stop writing," he said, "but I am finding that my work is less accessible to a larger audience. I am not sure what to do about it, if anything."

"Just be careful," Darcy said.

"Don't I always?" He grinned. "Oh, of course. I don't."

* * *

Grégoire Bellamont-Darcy was used to waking in darkness. Lauds, the first service of the morning, was well before dawn. It was a period of spiritual intensity, when the world was quiet to everything else.

He slipped out of bed without disturbing Caitlin, put on his tunic and cross, and entered the chapel. Even for late summer, the room was very cool, owing to the stone walls and floor. He lit the candle at the altar and put on his spectacles to read the words from the prayer book. He had memorized them long ago, but it never hurt to see the words. Except this morning, when he was yawning. I could do this seated, he thought. He had been up far later than usual talking to his brother.

Grégoire did not realize he had fallen asleep until he woke. His head straightened with a jerk and he recovered his spectacles and the prayer book, which had fallen to the ground. He shivered as he stood up, and noticed he could see his breath in front of him. Was autumn really that close?

"Hello? Who's there?" he said to the footsteps. Sometimes Patrick would rise to greet him, no doubt to talk him into something while his mother was still asleep, but they were too heavy for a boy who would be nine in a week. "Who goes? Darcy?" He set the book down on the stand, and was about to light another candle when the apparition appeared behind the altar, and walked through it, its black robes kicking up a sooty-looking dust he did not remember being there.

Grégoire raised his cross. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti – " But it just passed by, going around the pew and ignoring him entirely. "No!"

He ran after it. Surely someone else heard the heavy footsteps, or saw the dark prints on the floor? "No." He looked around the great hall, but saw no one. They passed the guest chambers, and he saw Patrick emerging from his room. "Patrick! No!" But Patrick wiped his eyes and didn't seem to hear him. "Not Patrick." Grégoire ran ahead, and grabbed an arm of the cloak. "Please, not Patrick! Please, take me instead."

It stopped, and turned to him. Grégoire could see nothing beneath the cloak, he could feel nothing but cold, so cold it burned him, and he had to let go. Death kept walking, passing Patrick, who began walking towards the chapel, oblivious to his father. It went in the other direction, to the great stairs that lead up to the main chambers of the household – "No! I won't let you! I won't let you take them!" Even with the flesh searing on his palms, he managed up the stairs, and he could barely breathe when he reached the top ahead of the approaching figure, so black it made the candlelight around it dimmer in an all-consuming darkness. "You cannot – please – not my family –,"

But Death would not hear his pleas, and pushed him away, and he rolled down the stairs, but caught a foot. It was just bone despite the sound it made. "Please, in the name of Our Lord and Savior – "

He could not hold any longer. When it moved its foot and pushed him again, he had to release, and fall back, hitting the carpet at the bottom of the stairs. Curled in a bundle, he looked at his hands, they were singed where he had just held on to bone –

"Pa!"

His neck hurt. It had slumped forward again. "Wha – no. Don't –" He opened his eyes. "Patrick."

Grégoire was sitting in the pew. He had been dreaming.

"Pa, yeh fell asleep again."

The room had returned to normal. His prayer book was on the floor, where it should be if it had slipped out of his hands. Patrick picked it up, placed the lost spectacles on it, and handed it back to him.

"Thank you," Grégoire said, setting them both aside, and pulling his son in close. "I love you."

"Ye 'eadin' ter be so sappy dis early in de mornin'?" he said, and pulled himself free. "Oi'm starvin'. Can we git somethin' from de kitchen?"

Grégoire smiled. "Of course we can." It was only when they stepped into the better-lit corridor and he took his son's hand that he saw his own was scarred, as if it had been burned, but had healed long ago.

* * *

"'tis 'ardly mornin' an' our son smells loike bacon," Caitlin Bellamont said as she rose from her bed. "Why is dat?"

"We might have ... found some bacon," Grégoire said from the writing table. His page was empty, the ink on the pen drying. He was staring at his hands, both scarred, but so subtly it was hard to notice. "I had a terrible vision."

"Ye 'eadin' ter write aboyt it?"

"No." He put his pen away and closed the ink. "I have nothing to say about it."

It was still quite dark out. She lit the lamp and sat on the bench beside him. "Yer luk brutal."

"I saw Death, Caitlin," Grégoire said, his voice cracking. He held his hands up, but didn't offer an explanation.

"Did 'e come fer yeh?"

He shook his head. "I don't know who he came for. And Patrick will tell you I was asleep. I must have been. But – "

She shushed him, and kissed him on the forehead. He had not realized how much he was shaking until he was embraced, and felt her much calmer body against his. "'tis al' roi."

"I couldn't stop him."

"I don't tink yer were meant ter."

* * *

Grégoire could not – and would not – express his relief when everyone appeared that morning, alive and well, even old Mr. Bennet. A general calm was over Pemberley, at least until the Bingleys appeared, and even then, there was nothing to alarm, just the general excitement of Georgie's increasing state. To escape the women, which included Eliza Bingley and all three Darcy daughters, Darcy proposed a fishing trip to teach Patrick how to fish in a pond, which he assured him was quite different from the sea. Patrick gave up swimming in it long ago; he thought it was all scummy and preferred the ocean to staid water. Still, he was happy enough to take up a rod beside his father and uncles, and was quickly in a contest with his cousin Robert to see who could catch more fish.

There wasn't a lot biting in the pond, so the boys tied in number and started debating whose was bigger. Grégoire, who hadn't felt much like fishing, declared it a tie to get them back inside. He still hadn't shaken off the nerves from the morning. He found the supper slow and tedious. He excused himself from company as soon as possible to prepare for evening prayers. Instead he went to the library, where Mr. Bennet's chair was occupied by Georgie Darcy. "Georgiana."

"Mr. Grégoire," she said, and did not rise at his insistent gesture.

"I apologize for disturbing you." He went to leave, but her voice stopped him.

"It's all right. I just wanted a little quiet – away from everyone. But not you." She could not explain herself, but the point was, his presence did not bother her. "I'm just so nervous."

He sat down in the chair opposite her, beside the fireplace. "I suppose there's no particular use in me telling you it's natural, as you've been assured that many times as of late."

"Yes." She put a hand on her belly. "I just – would feel better, if it kicked."

"Not all babies are dancers."

"This one is. Was. I haven't felt anything for a little while now." She sighed. "I want to say, I have this feeling, but everyone tells me it's natural. I know it's natural to be nervous, but I do have this feeling, like something is wrong." She looked up at him. "Have you ever had a feeling you just couldn't shake?"

All he said was, "Call the doctor."

* * *

Despite the situation surrounding Alison's birth, Dr. Dunhill was still the local physician who was most talented and most trusted for childbirth, though this time he came accompanied by a mid-wife. It was unfortunate that Dr. Maddox was no longer practicing and Dr. Bertrand was not in the field of childbirth, though he could perform one admirably enough if required. He was also in London, and Maddox in Chesterton.

"Just look at her," Geoffrey insisted, and the doctor and mid-wife disappeared into his chambers, leaving him outside with his mother. He didn't like the way Uncle Grégoire had told him he suspected something was wrong – the man had clearly been out of sorts all day, but he wouldn't say something like that without a good reason, would he? He paced while his mother looked on; his father remained with their guests. No general emergency was called. She was not in labor, not even having false pains, but something had unnerved her and his uncle.

The mid-wife emerged. Her voice was gentler than the doctor's; maybe Dunhill had the good sense to speak through her after Alison's birth and Geoffrey's reaction to it. "Master Geoffrey," she said in a low voice, "your wife appears fine, but we are having a problem finding a heartbeat for the child."

"What does that mean? She's not in labor. Everything was fine. We thought everything was fine. She's not early this time. Is the baby breech?"

"We're going to keep looking," the mid-wife assured him. "There is nothing to be done at the moment, but she would like to see you."

Geoffrey looked desperately at his mother, who nodded, and went inside. Georgie did not look physically distressed, but she pulled his arm close. "He can't find a heartbeat."

"Mr. Darcy," Dr. Dunhill said, taking the cardboard tube off her exposed stomach, "would you like to try?"

He swallowed. "I – I can't. If you can't hear it, I certainly won't."

"But you could feel it," Georgie said.

Geoffrey didn't want to contradict her. He put his hand on her stomach, then his head. Her body was not perfectly still, of course – there were her own reactions, but he couldn't feel anything particular, like he could when the baby kicked, or moved in some dramatic way. "I don't know. I'm not being very helpful." He looked up nervously at the doctor. "What can we do?"

"There is no reason, I think, to take action at this moment," he said. "She is not in any discomfort, and a natural labor is always preferable to an induced one."

He did not know they were considering it. He just nodded. "Yes."

* * *

That night, there was no sleep for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy the younger, only an exhausted resting state. Geoffrey kept his hand vigilantly on her stomach, but as he would fall asleep, it would fall off, waking her, which would wake him. So this continued into the early morning hours, though neither would give up the idea.

"Is it true?" she whispered. "Am I carrying a dead baby?"

"He's not sure." It was the best answer he could give.

"I'm sorry."

"What? What do you have to be sorry for?"

Her voice was so miserable. "Failing you again."

"You've done no such thing. We have a beautiful daughter – "

"And no heir."

"You're being irrational. I've told you on many occasions that I have three sisters and I could care less – "

"Every man wants one. Don't you want a son?"

He paused before answering, "I want you to be well."

She did not fail to notice the way he answered, surely. It was not enough. She dug her head into the pillow. "It's terrible. Now it's like a weight."

"We don't know for sure – "

"Mr. Grégoire knows. I saw it on his face."

"My uncle is a wonderful, kind, knowledgeable, generous saint of a man. With that said, he is also a bit crazy." He tried to smile for her. "After all, all we Darcys are; the family madness and all that. My father thinks he saw the ghost of Uncle Wickham at the wedding."

But Georgie would not be entertained. She pulled his hand tight against her belly. It was hard and still. "I know it."

"I will not continue to disparage your notions, as it only seems to work against me, but I will say that I love you, and have every confidence that we will get through this."

She said nothing, and held his hand even tighter. He could feel her tension, but not the child's.

* * *

Three agonizing days later, Georgiana Darcy's labor pains began. It was a relief to them (though at the moment, she did not see it that way), but there was no pre-celebration with the expectant father. He did not want to be surrounded and even asked his father to have some peace. Instead he took his daughter, and waited on the stairs, watching her waddle back and forth, and even try to climb them. She could not stay upright while climbing stairs yet, but she was better at it. "Papa!" she squealed, as he picked her up and kissed her and tried to straighten her hair, which had soft curls like his that had a tendency to tangle.

There was something so quiet about it, partially because he chased everyone away, and partially because his sense of dread pushed everything else out of his mind. After what seemed a very short while, Dr. Dunhill came down with his mother, who ordered for the servants to take Alison away.

"I quickened the labor with a potion after we deduced that there was no chance for the child. I saw no reason to leave you wife in further agony, Mr. Darcy."

He just nodded. The feeling was so powerful that it was actually quite numbing. "How is she?"

"Sleeping now, and she will for a while, from the drug. She is uninjured. It was some mishap in the womb, I believe – these things happen from time to time."

He heard himself say, "Was it a boy or a girl?"

"It was a boy," his mother said.

He didn't expect that Georgie's suspicions were true, and hearing that somehow made it worse. He could have had a son – but that chance was already gone. Gone. Over. It's done. You have to be strong for Georgie now. And Alison.

There was time before dark to bury the child. He saw what would have been his son only briefly, but one glance was enough for a lifetime before they closed the box. A small crowd, excluding small children and his sisters, gathered around the little grave of Christian Darcy. The Bingleys were not present – Charles and Jane stayed by the side of their sleeping daughter, her father holding her hand in case she might wake to the nightmare that awaited her. Geoffrey looked away from the plot for which there was no stone. It was not far from where his grandparents were buried, or his Uncle Wickham. Why had he not noticed the little tombstones before? Darcys had come before and not made it into the world. His mother said she miscarried a total of three times in her history, twice between him and Anne. Had the pain all been the same for them? Had they all suffered so much, and then moved on and lived their lives without appearing scarred?

The crowd dispersed as quietly as it had gathered. He remained, and his father beside him. Across the fresh plot stood his uncle, who looked so shaken and pale, and was praying with his rosary, mumbling in Latin. He looked like he was crying, but it was hard to tell. Geoffrey couldn't see clearly, not through his own tears.

His father embraced him. Fitzwilliam Darcy had slapped him on the back, shook him, shaken his hand – but he had not hugged him in a long while. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. The situation did not require speech, only patience, and it was what his father offered him. Geoffrey took it; he buried himself in his father's waistcoat and wept.

...Next chapter - Chapter 5 - The Sand Garden

* * *


	5. The Sand Garden

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy! _Though, probably not for a couple of chapters, as the angst content here is pretty high._

Author's note: Some people have asked me where this story is going, which I think is a fair question. The chrysanthemum is the national emblem of Japan; the rose is the English rose. They represent the two locals of this story and the two dimensions of Georgiana's personality, though she really has more than two. Though the story still has some ground to cover with other characters (and one more wedding!), this story is about Georgiana coming to terms with the balancing act of motherhood, marriage, and that darker side of her personality that if you didn't like, you would have stopped reading this series long ago. But it's also about Geoffrey and Alison, and how the three of them make a family, as those balances are currently completely out-of-whack. Of course, me being me, "coming to terms" is often a euphemism for fight scenes.

George Wickham gets his own central story in the next one. Sorry for the wait.

Posting twice weekly, sometimes more.

* * *

Chapter 5 - The Sand Garden

When Georgiana woke, it was very early in the morning, but Geoffrey was awake, and sitting on the bed beside her. "Georgie."

She didn't speak. She barely moved, except to pull her pillow closer to her face so she could bury herself in it.

"Marm," interrupted the mid-wife. "You should have something. Some juice, perhaps?"

Eventually they managed to entice Georgie into drinking a glass of juice before turning over and going back to sleep.

In the coming days, she hardly moved much at all, except for what was absolutely necessary. Her health had to be protected, and she brokered no argument. In fact, she said nothing at all, and it was the silence that bothered Geoffrey most. He tried to entice her – did she want to see Alison? Did she want her mother? Did she want him to read her Charles' latest letter from the shores of fair Italia? She did not, if that was what no response meant.

He knew it was a bad idea to let Alison see her. The mid-wife was against it, Nurse was against it, and he didn't have the heart to inform them that he didn't need to be told. He played with her in the nursery, doing what he thought was an admirable job of pretending that nothing was wrong.

"Papa," she said. She pointed. "Grama."

His mother smiled. "Yes. Very good, Alison. Can you say your own name?"

"Alisan!" She giggled and tugged at her father's vest. "Mama!"

"Yes. Mama." He kissed her.

In the hallway, his mother assured him, "She'll be all right."

He had a great desire to believe it. He read Charles' letter anyway. At least her brother had had the sense not to mention any outcome of the pregnancy that might have occurred while the mail was being delivered and instead spoke of the wonderful sites he had seen and how much he missed them all, especially, of course, his goddaughter, who was surely growing bigger every day. She didn't stop him, or say anything, as he finished his reading and closed the letter. Only when he stood up to put it on the pile did she speak.

"Was it a boy or a girl?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Was it a boy or a girl?"

He swallowed and put his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. "It was a boy."

She withdrew her hand and tucked it under herself.

"I'm not upset."

"Don't lie to me."

"Georgie – "

She turned her head away again.

"Georgie," he said, "I am ... upset that we lost a child. But we'll have another one – "

"Geoffrey?"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

He had a comment, but he closed his mouth.

"I killed our baby. I killed your son and your heir while he was still inside me." Her voice was toneless. "I tried to kill Alison in my womb. It's all I'm good at. Don't be surprised and don't be foolish enough to think I deserve forgiveness."

She tried to bury her sobs in the pillow, but even he could hear the sound. He pulled her to him, and for the first time since the labor, she did not resist.

* * *

When Georgie refused the consolation of her mother and her aunts, she was left alone, and Geoffrey felt their eyes on him. He could not face them without his wife; he felt as if his own family had turned on him. He told his father that as soon as Georgie was well enough to travel, they would be returning to Lancashire.

"Are you taking Alison?"

"Of course." It had not occurred to him that she would be taken care of by Nurse at Pemberley, and Georgie could rest. But without Alison ... "I will not abandon her."

"I was not suggesting it," his father said.

They were packed by Sunday, and Georgie proved herself by attending services, even though she was pale and very quiet, hiding her face under her wide-brimmed hat. Only after many hugs and words of encouragement was she allowed to enter the coach.

"Geoffrey," Bingley said, taking him aside. "If you need anything, do not hesitate."

"Thank you, Uncle."

His uncle grabbed him and hugged him. "Take care of my daughter."

"Always."

* * *

"Oh Lizzy," Jane said, watching the carriage disappear into the mist from the massive windows of Pemberley. "Should we have let them go?"

"Of course!" Mr. Bennet said from his favorite armchair. "They're a respectable married couple and we've no right to intervene in their affairs. I did not force my opinion upon how you and Mr. Bingley made your home, though you were the same age as they are now. Mr. Darcy, though, had a bit more sense."

"Papa," Elizabeth said, but Jane was too distracted to notice the slight on her husband.

"Everyone has to find their own way in the world," Mr. Bennet said. "That was how I always handled my children – which, looking back, was not a policy that was necessarily wise. In fact, there were moments where it seemed a complete disaster." He frowned. "Nonetheless, I persist – it all turned out all right in the end. If nothing else, as his mother, you can write him incessantly and demand to know how he is doing. And Jane, you can do the same to Georgiana, so between the two of you, you will know everything they are about, or at the very least, know that they are not telling you everything they are about."

* * *

"Somehow I don't remember it being so terrible," Bingley said, "when it was Jane. I know the very idea is cruel – "

Darcy looked at his friend and shook his head. "She'll be all right. She'll have another child, like everyone else does – "

"So she can have your heir?" Bingley snapped. Darcy looked stunned, but Bingley was not apologetic. "I've never seen her worse. I dare say she might prefer being shot over being pregnant again." He threw up his hands. "But what choice does one have in the matter? There! That's a question for your brother."

"My brother is not in the mood to be questioned," Darcy said.

* * *

"What kind of merciful G-d would take the life of a child? For no reason?"

Caitlin Bellamont watched her husband pace the small chapel floor, his eyes never staying in one spot. She was not able to settle his nerves in any way that she knew after his dream, or vision, or however one would call it. It was just like him, to go and offer himself on the spiritual chopping block. "Grégoire, "I don't nu why babies die. I wish I did."

That managed to stop his frantic pacing. "That was not what I meant." He bowed his head apologetically. Of course it was not what he meant – there was a very logical explanation as to why her baby had died. She had taken a knife to the stomach. That she had survived was a miracle, and that Patrick came into being was yet another.

"'oy many miracles de yer nade?" she begged, taking hold of his scarred hand. "'onestly, I wud 'av been damned pissed aff if ye'd given yer life for a wane who might not 'av made it anyway. If it wus mine, maybe ... but I nade yer in me life. Patrick needs yer." She pulled him down and he sat on the pew next to her. "Does it make me a bad person, for tinkin dat?"

He paused, then answered, "No. Of course not. You could never be a bad person."

"Yer jist sayin' dat cos yer me husband."

"No. I don't think you're capable of it."

"Den yeh tink me above Jaysus, do yeh? Better than 'im?"

"No – of course not."

"Den if I can't do none wrong – "

"I see." He managed a little smile. "I understand. I just am unable to reconcile it." He tightened his grip on her hand. "I will try."

* * *

As their guests departed, the days passed quietly for the Darcys, punctuated only by a collection of letters arriving from beyond Derbyshire.

_To Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire,_

_Please allow me, and Lady Maddox, to express our regret at the unfortunate circumstances of your son and daughter. While we have written them in Lancashire, the note was brief, as we assumed they, like any couple in mourning, did not wish to be assaulted by lengthy notices of concern._

_I would, however, privately remark that if there is some news that they want more indirectly known, we would be glad to hear of it, and if you have a chance to mention it, they are always welcome at Chesterton._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Maddox_

* * *

_To Sir Daniel Maddox,_

_Be assured that we are in regular contact with Lancashire, and it is mine and Mrs. Darcy's belief that time will heal all wounds. Your offer is appreciated, but Geoffrey said they are not inclined to take you up on it at this time._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Darcy_

* * *

_To Mr. Bingley,_

_We recently received a reply to our letter to Lancashire, though it was Mr. Darcy who responded instead of Mrs. Darcy, to whom the letter was addressed. While we assume this is simply a matter of circumstance, please assure your daughter that our offer of hosting remains open._

_Sincerely,_

_Prince Brian_

* * *

_To Mr. Brian Maddox, Whom I Refuse To Call Prince on Any Occasion Except One Involving Severe Inebriation,_

_You are not the only one who has expressed this concern, but Geoffrey has assured us numerous times now that Georgiana is on the mend, and she was never particularly inclined to long missives in the first place, so we will have to settle for that. They will be in Derbyshire for Miss Sarah Darcy's ball; though it remains unscheduled, as Darcy will take any excuse not to schedule it. Considering the circumstances, I cannot say I blame him._

_Thank you for your assurances. I will let them know of your offer and that you wish to hear from Georgiana as soon as she comes around. I have no doubt you will._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Charles Bingley II_

* * *

_To Mr. Charles Bingley II,_

_You are remiss in one respect. There was that time you were smoking in my house and did not know I had opium in the hooka._

_Sincerely,_

_Prince Brian, Heir to the Throne of Sibiu._

_P.S. Her Highness has informed me that I should stop wasting paper now._

* * *

"Stop wasting paper," Jane said to her husband.

"For a laugh, it's worth it."

The Bingley house was not a tranquil one, despite the silence that seemed to prevail over everything, even Eliza's playing of the pianoforte or the Darcy sisters visiting from Pemberley. For several weeks, they did not hear from Georgiana at all, despite the letters addressed to her and only to her. It was not clear if they were going unopened, but Geoffrey was the responder, and he spoke only in general terms, cautiously reassuring. He spoke of Alison a little, and some things that were going on in their home, but little else.

Eventually he must have persuaded Georgiana to pen something, because she wrote her mother. The letter was unremarkable, with no mentions of anything they might have said in previous letters, reporting that the local mid-wife felt she had physically recovered from the labor but still required rest, and that Geoffrey was very supportive. She did mention that Alison had learned how to pronounce "Grandma" properly. She had always been, for a woman, very succinct in her correspondences, but they could not help but wish for a bit more than that.

"It's not been long," Bingley said, embracing his wife as she wiped her eyes. "Not even two months now. Give her time."

* * *

Geoffrey's father had given him some sage advice before his marriage: should the young couple share a chamber, let it be hers, in case she might become so incensed with him as to toss him out, and then he would have somewhere masculine to go. The image of his mother tossing his father out of the room was somewhat amusing (and disturbing), but Geoffrey had listened, because Georgiana Darcy (nee Bingley) could be frightening at times. Still, they had remained together, and he was never asked to leave – that was, until after the death of their unborn child. She did not so much request that she might not seek his presence as to state it simply, as if it was normal, and he supposed it was. She was a woman in mourning, upset at herself and her body, which was still weakened. She needed space.

He felt like an intruder when he entered her chambers, even though they were filled with some of his things and had been his as well as hers since the wedding. He would knock and hear no response, and he would enter, and put another letter on the pile. "It's from your mother."

Georgie did not sit up in bed even though it was midday. She faced away from him, looking out the window and saying nothing.

"I think it would be more convincing if you wrote her."

"I did write her," she said, her first spoken words of the day.

"I dictated and you wrote. It was different."

She did not respond.

"Georgie – "

"I can't lie to my parents anymore. It makes me feel worse than I already do."

"Then don't," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Tell her you're not feeling well, but the mid-wife says you need more time. That's not a lie. She just wants to hear it from you."

"How do you know so much about my mother?"

"A guess. Am I wrong?"

She buried her head in the pillow.

"Georgie," he said in a soft, hushed voice as he dared to put his hand over hers. "We have to move on. It was a terrible tragedy, but we have each other- "

She pushed him away, and rolled over, determined to face away from him. "You're wrong," Georgie said, "when our son died, so did I."

Try as he might, he could not elicit further response from her at all that day.

* * *

"This is worse," he told the mid-wife. "So much worse." Mrs. Finley was the only person who knew the extent of what Georgiana had gone through the first time around, and that time the baby had survived. "And please don't say to give it time. I don't think I can bear it much longer. I'm doing nothing for her."

"You're doing everything for her," she assured him. She did not come to the house this time; he went to her cottage and spoke in her workshop of herbs and spices. "Is she still talking about the child?"

"No. That stopped, I think. She might be thinking it – she says so little to me. She was always quiet to other people, but not to me."

"Is she still talking about death?"

His words did not rest easy with him, but they needed to be said. "Yes."

Mrs. Finley began plucking leaves off a potted plant in some kind of systematic manner. "How is Miss Darcy?"

"She knows something is wrong."

"What did you tell her?"

He looked away. "That her mother is very tired. I don't know how long I can keep saying that." He added, "She did see her, early this week."

"Was she happy about it? Your wife, I mean."

"I think so. She seemed to be. She's never shown any of this anger or sadness in front of Alison. At least we have that."

He knew the mid-wife had nothing to offer him, but she always tried. "What about the garden?"

"The sand one?"

"Yes. Didn't she enjoy it?" She gave him a look of encouragement. "Try to get her out of her chambers. She enjoys being outside, does she not?"

Geoffrey forced himself to nod. "She used to."

"Have you discussed this with anyone?"

"I couldn't possibly – she barely wants to discuss it with me."

"I meant for yourself, Mr. Darcy," she said. "Would you like something to help you sleep?"

She must have noticed the dark circles under his eyes. "No. I need to be up for Alison. Nurse could handle it, I suppose, but I want – " He shook his head. There was no use continuing. What he wanted was for Georgie to be better, or for this all not to have happened. He would sacrifice almost anything to be a happy family again. He told Georgie that, but if she thought of anything, she kept it to herself. "It doesn't matter."

"I would argue the point with you, but now is not the time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Finley – for everything."

"Anytime, Mr. Darcy."

Mr. Darcy. He was Mr. Darcy, the one who rescued people, the person people leaned on because he was so reliable and strong. If he was the strong one, why did he feel so weak inside?

...Next chapter - Chapter 6 - The Trunk

* * *


	6. The Trunk

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Posting twice weekly, sometimes more.

* * *

Chapter 6 - The Trunk

As the leaves began to turn, life in Lancashire had reached a certain level of permanent low. Georgiana went up and down – improved enough on some days to go out to the mystifying sand garden and rake or write a letter to her mother, and on other days unable to get out of bed at all or dress herself. Geoffrey threw himself into Alison's life to a point that stupefied Nurse so he wouldn't be lonely, because Georgie's door was perpetually shut to him. Only after her lady-maid burst into his study and nervously begged for an audience did he really know something had to be done. Georgie had lost all of the weight from the pregnancy and then some because she was barely eating. The maid risked everything by betraying her mistress, as Georgie's secretive anger was easily evoked, but Geoffrey reassured her that the secret would stay with him. He would act on it on his own.

Only, he didn't know how.

There was one person whom he could turn to, someone who would willingly incur Georgiana's wrath, and as the calendar turned, he had every reason to invite him.

"Georgie," he said during his daily visit to leave her mail on the stand. She did not permit normal servants in and out of her room, "I want to see George before he leaves for France, but I won't leave you or Alison, so I'd like to invite him here."

Georgie did not answer. He didn't expect her to.

"You don't have to play host," he said. "He won't expect it of you and neither will I. You don't even have to see him, but I want to wish him well."

Nothing.

"I assume you've no objections, then."

She pulled the sheet over her head.

That would have to be good enough. "I love you." He left, and shut the door behind him.

* * *

At the very sight of a carriage, Alison jumped off the study windowsill and ran through the front hallway. "Alison!" Geoffrey shouted, dropping his papers to run after her. He was not fast enough, and by the time he reached the front doors, George Wickham had already picked her up and held her in his arms. "George."

"George!" Alison shouted, raising her hands for some reason.

"Geoffrey." George bowed just a little bit, and set Alison down as he entered, so the servants could take his coat and hat. He smiled – willingly, and not with a smirk, which was already abnormal. "How are you?"

"Apparently not as good as you. Where have you been? Cambridge?"

"London."

"_London?_"

"Yes, London. It's a city. Heard of it?"

George took tea, but refused other refreshments. "I've been in a carriage for two days. I would like to stretch my legs." He had not yet asked about the missing member of their party, but Geoffrey didn't bring that up. Instead he had Nurse put Alison down for a nap, and they set out on the path that circled his land, and had a lovely walk through the woods.

"I never imagined your sister marrying would be such a delight for you," Geoffrey said. George didn't look _happy_, but he did look more _settled_ than he usually did. "Certainly not from the way you acted at the wedding."

"My sister is happier than she's been in years," George said, "or so her letters indicate. She's to Athens now, I believe. And then on to Egypt."

"And you remain in London."

"Yes."

"At Gracechurch Street?"

"It's not been so miserable," George said. "I suspect my mother, having experienced the first loss of a child to marriage, has become somewhat sentimental. Trust me, I am surprised as you are, but I am not one to complain about Mother behaving herself."

"You're not supposed to say it like that."

"Perhaps." They were a good distance out now. George tested his cane in the soft ground. "So, my visit begs the uncomfortable question – "

"I don't want to lie to you and say she's getting better," Geoffrey said. "She's not." He let it linger. George would understand. He felt sure of that.

"If she discovers we had this conversation, I assume I am to say I beat it out of you, and that you did not give this information out willingly?"

"I don't think you could beat it out of me," he said, "but I don't think she could respond as she normally could – physically. She's too frail."

"Nonetheless I will be taking any assumed blame."

"Thank you, George."

They came up to a little pool of water that had collected in a hole that had perhaps once been a well. Geoffrey sat down on the rock, leaning back against a tree. "First I feared for her health. Then I feared for her emotional state. Now I fear for both. She isn't eating; she isn't talking to anyone. I have to force her to write a letter to her mother because I think the Bingleys are on to us if I just write all of them and I can't replicate her handwriting. And she says horrible things."

George just nodded.

"She's says she's dead, George. She's dead and I killed her. And she acts as though she is."

"How did you commit this terrible deed?" He did not say it in jest.

"The answer is different depending on her mood, but she has said that I've destroyed her. Before Alison was born, she said she would be a terrible mother. After she was born, Georgie would ... sometimes say the same things, even though she wasn't, but she couldn't see it. But Mrs. Finley said it would pass."

"The maid?"

"Our mid-wife. And it did, after a few months, but it came back from time to time. But since the birth, it's been nothing but. She at least is willing to put on a show for Alison."

"Or she truly loves her own daughter," he calmly suggested, "and is merely unable to express it."

"That's what I like to think, when it's less overwhelming. I do feel as if I've done something terrible. Like a bird – you know the ones."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"The wild birds – you try to domesticate them by putting them in a cage, and they die."

George just paced.

"I want to save this marriage," Geoffrey said. His voice cracked. "I just do not know how."

George continued to pace, rubbing his chin. Yes, that was what Geoffrey needed – someone who would take him seriously without being overzealous about the issue. Someone with a clever mind. "You've taken her away from her family. And yours, to be precise."

"I couldn't imagine doing otherwise. You know Georgie."

"I've never known Georgiana," he replied. "Never truly understood her. I can only say that I can predict her moods with some sufficiency, which is more than casual acquaintances can say. You are the one with any understanding of her."

He choked. "But I don't."

"What?"

"I don't love her because I understand her. I love her for who she is – who she was when we married. Not that it's lessened – "

"I understand."

" – but I never truly understood her. How could someone understand a woman like Georgie?"

"You are her husband," he said. "You ought to at least _try_."

* * *

"George," Georgiana said with a definite formality despite her method of address, and curtseyed. She met them in the sitting room on the second day of George's stay. It was the first time she was out of her room and properly dressed, but her hair was wild and overgrown (for _her_). She was pale and so thin. As much as it distressed Geoffrey, he knew not to say anything.

"Georgiana," he replied with a bow. "It is good to see you."

She motioned for the servants to leave, and they did. "Are we to talk, one crazy person to another? Is that the proposition?"

"I cannot speak for myself, but I have never believed you insane and have no intention of starting now," he said. "How are you?"

"Are you asking as a concerned relative?"

"As a friend."

She looked to Geoffrey, who just shrugged. He was surprised she even made an appearance. She turned back to George. "Has Geoffrey told you all of my secrets?"

"You are avoiding the question."

"What does it matter?"

"I would prefer your own assessment over his, seeing as you have more complete access to yourself."

She raised an eyebrow. "You might make a doctor after all."

"I wouldn't be going to France if I was not intending to make the effort. I'm too unfashionable to be there on any other mission."

It was her turn to answer. She looked down at the floor, turning away from him. "I am tired. That is the beginning and the end of it."

"The middle must be quite exhaustive." But he did not probe her further. "If Lancashire is not proving restful, why not consider going abroad? It seems to be in fashion these days, and I do not believe your husband has ever left the country."

"Darcys don't leave Derbyshire unless forced, and then, only to Town and back," she said.

"That is untrue! My father went all the way to Rome to speak to one priest. And because he could not bear to be parted from her, he took Mother," Geoffrey said. "And he went to Austria to look for Uncle Grégoire."

"Darcys do leave Derbyshire," George said, "apparently at the whims of their wives and brothers. So, you may go wherever you like, and Geoffrey will follow."

"Perhaps," was all she said to that, though it was in a very dismissive tone. She declined the offer to join them for dinner, claiming she was not hungry (as if that was a reason to decline dinner), but she left her room a second time, to see him off the next day.

"Be careful in France," Geoffrey said. "We may not be available to rescue you."

"When am I ever involved in an incident?" he replied.

"That's true. It is very hard to find crime in a library." He shook his hand. "Take care of yourself, George."

"Be well," Georgie added.

"Beh weh," Alison mimicked, and George waved to her before climbing into the carriage, which caused her father to laugh, and her mother to smile.

* * *

Nothing could interest her. Geoffrey went through all of the possible places – and there were many. The Continent was at peace and open to them. Charles offered many times to give them his villa in Italy. They could even travel to America or Nova Scotia, if she so chose. Or something as simple as Ireland.

She would not be enticed. Her mood sunk again. It was like trying to hold on to water. He was so consumed by this quest that the mail had to be brought to his attention. Unfortunately it was, in no better terms, a summons to Pemberley.

"I'm not going," Georgie announced, and he didn't dare contradict her.

"Then I'm taking Alison."

She flinched at that, but still did not protest. She did let him caress her before he left. Her body was so cold.

"Promise me you'll eat something."

She curled up tighter, and he left.

He rode in the carriage to Derbyshire on only the flimsiest premise of his father needing to speak to him on some business matter and his mother wanting to see her granddaughter. His heart sunk as the family land came into view, and he held the sleeping Alison tighter. He knew quite well he would have to answer in person as to Georgie's status, now months beyond the disaster, and he could not even report that she was better without lying to some extent. It was never easy to lie to his father. "Here we go, Alison. Pemberley."

"Pemmerley."

"And your Grandpapa."

"Granpapa!"

"And your Grandmama."

"Granmama!"

"All of them, in fact, we're likely to be subjected to."

"Grangran!" Meaning, Mr. Bennet.

It was her 'Grangran' who greeted her first as they entered, and she ran to him. "Grandfather Bennet." He bowed and prepared himself. "Mother."

His mother watched Alison first, and seemed relieved. "Geoffrey. It is good to see you. I assume you've come alone?"

"Yes." Meaning, without Georgie.

"Your father is waiting for you in the study."

He sighed. "Will you at least prepare me for what I am to be subjected to?"

His mother approached him, and took his hands. She had to look up at him, but not by much. "You're not well."

"I'm tired," he said. It had been Georgie's excuse. "What do you expect?"

"You know we're here for her."

"Help is harder to give when it isn't accepted," he said. It was so much easier, saying this to his mother. "No one can make her do something she does not want to do, even if it's for her own good. Not even me."

"There are people prepared to test that theory."

He grimaced.

He was not ready to face his father when he entered, much less the crowd. "Father. Uncle Bingley. Aunt Bingley." The bow was mainly to avoid their looks as his father gestured for him to be seated. The fact that all of them were standing made it all the worse; at least Aunt Bingley sat down. "I will spare you the question," he said. "Georgie is ... progressing."

He looked over his shoulder as the door opened and his mother entered. Would he be spared nothing?

"What does the mid-wife say? The one in Lancashire?" his father asked.

Of course, it was none of his father's business what she said, but he answered anyway, "The same. That a feeling of mourning is not uncommon in a woman who has undergone such trauma."

"Geoffrey," his mother said, "it is not that Georgie has suffered or is still suffering that is our primary concern. It is that you refuse to share it with us."

"I do share it with you," he said. "I've written nearly every day. My courier is exhausted." He added, "If you're speaking of our isolation, it was Georgie's decision and I respect it."

"And yet she is insensible..." his father said.

"She is not out of her senses. She is my wife, and before she was my wife, she was always a private woman. You can hardly expect that to change under these circumstances."

"Georgie did always keep to herself," his Aunt Bingley said, "but it wasn't always good for her."

"Are you suggesting that she's not capable of making her own decisions?" he demanded.

"Not everyone is capable of making decisions on their own, even about themselves. Especially about themselves," Uncle Bingley said. "We were overjoyed when you married not only for all the obvious reasons, but because we knew that of all the people in the world who could be good influences on her, she might possibly _listen_ to you. L-rd knows the rest of us have tried until our faces were blue."

Geoffrey did not like the shift in argument. His wife's actions, he would defend to the death. His own, he could not account for. He had been doing everything to the best of his abilities, and like any man, he supposed, he was not willing to question if it was enough. He looked down. "It was suggested that perhaps we should do some traveling."

The room seemed too warm to him. "Despite the circumstances, I very much enjoyed traveling to Rome with your father before Sarah was born."

"And you've never been out of the country, have you?" Uncle Bingley said.

"No," his father said. "He hasn't."

"I proposed the idea," Geoffrey said, "but we've not settled on a place. Until this point, I've not been very insistent. And it has to be somewhere we can bring Alison."

"I would not object to hosting our granddaughter," Darcy said.

"Neither would I," Uncle Bingley said.

"I am grateful for it, but with all due respect, I do not want to leave my daughter behind, and neither does Georgie."

No one would contradict him on that. He was allowed to leave, feeling his relief rising as his indignation went down.

* * *

The stay was brief, as it had been planned. His father did want him involved on some matters of land contracts, as they would eventually be in his name and required his signature to ease the transition, whenever that would be. He never found the notion of being _Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire_ to be a weight, but it had simply been off his mind for a while now and it had a certain familiarity when he returned to it. He did have duties as master of his house in Lancashire, and his father seemed pleased with his progress of renovating the grounds and holding his own staff, even with the mistress under the weather. Finding himself eager for his father's approval, Geoffrey was pleased that he had earned some recognition.

The third day he spent at Kirkland. Eliza was in residence, and Edmund had not yet left for Oxford. It mystified Geoffrey to see how the children did or did not imitate their parents, and on the Bingleys, he had more perspective than his own family. It went without saying that Georgie's personality was some phantom development, the twins were both like their parents, leaning on their mother's side, and Edmund was clever like his father but much more serious. His personality bordered on cold as his life was consumed by study for some unknown reason. Geoffrey had wondered aloud about it with Georgie many times, but neither of them had reached any solid conclusion. Even though he was a second son, Edmund would surely be provided with a living or money to make his way in the world when he decided to leave home or his father died, but he seemed to operate as if that was not a certainty and he would need all of his wits and knowledge of finances to survive. He was occasionally hard to talk to, as he was disinterested in most recreation and Geoffrey's desire to talk of the markets was lacking.

It was much easier to talk to Eliza, who had her mother's kind nature, but would boldly express her opinion, like her father. "You should go to Italy and see Charles."

"If we do even pass by Italy, we will surely stop there for that purpose. He has invited us several times."

"I want to go, but I can't without Mama or Papa, and I know Charles doesn't want them around, or he would have stayed in Derbyshire."

Geoffrey said, "Maybe he just likes the food."

"I heard it is very good. And the wines – Mr. Grégoire will go on and on about it, though he says they are inferior to French wines."

"He is a Frenchman at heart," he replied. "With an unpronounceable name and a love of fine wines."

"Indeed." She looked down at the creature tugging on her gown. "Monkey, what is it?"

He howled and climbed up on Geoffrey. While Geoffrey did not appreciate his hair being grabbed, he put on his stoic face and said, "Perhaps he smells Georgie."

"He haunts her room sometimes, when Papa is out. The maids had to put everything away because he would play with things that were open or loose."

He had not seen her room since the wedding. Come to think of it, he could not remember an occasion of seeing her room in many years. It had all been quickly packed before the wedding, taking little more than essentials and sending most of the rest to Lancashire later. Eliza gladly showed him in, and he was surprised that there were still pictures on the walls and a bed still made, and some boxes about. The armchair was covered by a sheet, as was most of the furniture, but there were still things about.

One thing stood out. He pointed. "What is that?"

"It's a trunk. What does it look like?"

"I mean, why wasn't it sent to Lancashire?" He approached the red trunk, which clashed with the room and was far more masculine in design, and knelt in front of it. "Where are the keys?"

"They should be in the dresser, with the rest of them."

Geoffrey removed the sheet and opened the dresser drawer, retrieving a set of keys. He had to try several before he found the matching one. "May I have a moment?" This was a woman's room, but that woman was his wife.

Eliza excused herself. Geoffrey removed the padlock, which was not on any of the other trunks, and opened it, then nearly collapsed as he doubled back at the wolf face staring at him in the seconds before he realized it was hollow and not living.

It was the white wolf mask. He had never actually seen her wear it, unconscious as he was at the time, but he had an active imagination. Inspecting it, he saw the inside cloth, and the blood stains on the side of the back covering, where she had been shot. _She was shot while wearing it_. He removed it and carefully set it aside to reveal a mass of weaponry unlike anything he had ever seen. Her sword she kept at Lancashire, hidden in the clothing trunk that went everywhere with her, but she only took it out to oil it and had not done so since the second confinement. Here he found steel items – claws, he identified, slipping one onto his hand, and touching the ends with the other. _Still sharp_. The claws he did remember, if only dimly, incapacitated as he was with a head wound.

There were other things, too: blue powder for a dye, more of her wooden shoes – some in various states of disrepair from overuse and weather damage – and clothing that had been modified to be more masculine but still fit her, some with blood stains. He was sure he was through it before he hit the very bottom, and with his hand he scraped it, unearthing one more thing – a book.

It was not a proper book with a real binding. It was printed on heavy paper and hand-bound with punched holes and rope. It was battered from years of obvious use, but still intact and legible, of what there was in English. Mostly it had drawings, crude sketches of the human form in various positions, with Japanese writing next to it and underneath, a more feminine hand writing in English. It was not Georgie's hand, and some of the spellings were incorrect (or just un-translated). With thought, he decided it must have been Nadezhda's work. He could tell easily enough that it was a training manual, though he could not imagine himself copying any of those movements, but he could imagine Georgie doing so.

There was one place that the English handwriting differed. In very inept block letters on the inside of the back cover it said, _When you have finish, I will be waiting_.

The writing was undeniably masculine, and undeniably from a man whose name he had not heard in a long time: Mugen.

* * *

"If there is anything else you need..."

"Nothing that I need so much as a brief respite from lecturing," he said with a smile to his mother as she released him from the embrace. His Aunt Bingley kissed him, and Uncle Bingley wished him the best.

Only when the carriage was fully packed did Darcy come down and relinquish his granddaughter who, for reasons beyond understanding, had almost his entire cravat in her mouth and hands. He passed her to Geoffrey. "Good luck."

Geoffrey did not have it in him to ask his father if he wanted the cravat back.

* * *

Upon his return Geoffrey was informed that the mistress of the house was sitting in the garden, which for her meant sitting in the chair next to the box of sand, slowly raking it into some sort of pattern. That pattern was quickly destroyed when her daughter came crashing into it, but neither female seemed the least bit bothered. "Mama!"

"Alison," she said, lifting her up, even if it got sand everywhere. She kissed her daughter, but did not say anything else. Eventually she nodded her head to her husband. "Geoffrey."

He paced for a moment, looking at the ruined pattern that would be so easily remade, and back at his sickly wife. "Do you want to go to Japan?"

"What?"

"What I said," he answered. "Do you want to go to Japan?"

Her look of utter mystification was her answer. He reached into his jacket and produced the book from the trunk, which she took as if it was a holy relic. Her hands even appeared to be shaking. "Where did you get this?"

"Kirkland. I brought the trunk here. Thought you might want to see it."

She looked alarmed. "You read it?"

He smiled. "Didn't understand a word."

She did not seem interested in further conversation at that time, and he was tired from the road. He kissed her, and passed Alison to Nurse for a nap, and returned to his own quarters. A bath was in order, and then a light snack before he went to his study to tackle the mail that had arrived in his absence.

"You're serious?"

Startled, he looked up at his wife, who had entered so silently, still clutching the book. He looked at it, and then at her. "About going to Japan? Yes."

"You know where Japan is."

"I own a map."

"You know they make foreigners sit in a tiny port and maybe not let them into the country proper at all?"

"I heard something to that extent."

"I won't leave Alison."

"We'll take her."

She frowned. "You are serious about this."

"I am serious about anything that would bring about your happiness."

She looked down at the book. "I'm out of practice. I wouldn't impress him."

There was only one possibly response to that. "Then you'd better get back in practice."

...Next chapter - Chapter 7 - The Voice of Mugen

* * *


	7. The Voice of Mugen

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

NEWS: If you enjoyed the series and want to help me get book 2 ("The Price of Family" story) purchased and into print even if you have no intention of buying it, email me a brief review. Learn more about it and how to win a free book from it at my forums, link here:

laughingman . web . aplus . net/ phpbb / viewtopic.php?f16&t48

You must be logged in to see it. It's under "Series News."

* * *

Chapter 7 - The Voice of Mugen

"Mama!"

Geoffrey followed Alison out of the breakfast room to find Georgie out of her room, and not at all dressed in the traditional manner. She was wearing her old tunic and breeches, the ones she had sewn long ago, and carrying her sandals. Her feet were bare. "What is it, darling?"

Unfortunately for Alison, she did not yet have the words to express her more complex desires, and had to be satisfied by a kiss from her mother.

"Would you care for breakfast?" Geoffrey said, pulling Alison's overeager hands away from the sword Georgie was carrying. It was in its case, but that didn't make him feel entirely comfortable.

"Tell them to keep it warm for me," she said, and walked out the front doors. The staff was too terrified to stop her.

"Don't go scaring the natives," Geoffrey said in a soft voice, mainly to himself.

* * *

Lancashire was different from Derbyshire. It seemed wilder, and less familiar, and that made it fresh. It was also a bit flatter, with the streams more likely to lead all the way to the ocean. Georgiana Darcy slung the sword over her shoulder and turned off the path and began walking along the stream, occasionally getting her feet wet.

_Adaptation is everything_, Mugen had said. Or, that was how she remembered it. _Sameness is your enemy. Staying the same can get you killed_.

She was not the little girl he had known. She was not the girl who, at eighteen, had defeated Hatcher and his men. She was not the same girl who fought the marquis. The principles were still there, but since her first child, she knew she was different. It was not the responsibility, or the expectations, but a physical change in her body – something that Mugen had not told her about, and something even she could not explain to someone like Princess Nadezhda.

"I fell," she told Geoffrey. That was the way she told him she was pregnant. It wasn't all the other signs that she had so carefully ignored. Mugen's style of fighting required confidence, grace, and above all, balance. She lost it. She woke up one morning and it was gone.

She had not stayed the same, but she had failed. She could not adapt. The enemy was her own body, and she couldn't fight it, not without nearly killing her first child, and succeeding in finishing off the second before it even had a chance to fight.

_No, I can't think about that_. She dropped her geta sandals and stepped into them, making her two inches taller. _Don't think about it,_ _Jorgi_. _Don't let it get to you. You promised him. You promised everyone_.

She drew her blade, and let her arm remember the weight, and how it had once been so easy in her hands not because it was light but because she knew it, like it was a part of her. She closed her eyes and reopened them to focus on a wild apple tree in the distance. She would have to run. In geta sandals.

_Easier said than done, no?_

She smiled, trying to think of the way Mugen would have said it. He didn't care about anything except perfection, and it seemed like he didn't care about that. It just came naturally to him.

She took off. The first few steps were harder, but the soft riverbank mud made it easier, if sticky. It slowed her down, but not too much.

_I promised him_.

She picked up speed, wobbling less, not yet raising her blade.

_ I promised everyone I would get better. Maybe I didn't say it, but I have to – they're making me – _

She found her spot as if it was meant for her, where she launched herself off the ground.

_I want to feel alive again._

She swung. It pulled her arm more than it needed to, and the drop was hard on her knees, and the rest of her body in shock, but she did land, kneeling, in the dirt with the tree not far behind her now. A single apple dropped from the tree and rolled to her feet.

Reaching for the apple, she instead collapsed to the ground not out of an imbalance but the lack of desire to remain upright. She could not continue with anything as she began to sob. She laid on the ground, with just the sounds of the flowing stream and her weeping to listen to_. I don't want to die. I can't live this way. I'm not this person. I don't know what I've become. Why did I let this happen? Where did I fail? Where did I fall?_

She was gasping for breath, to take it all in between heaves as her body was compelled to force all of the water possible out through her eyes, and she buried her face in the dirt, covering her eyes. She cried until it hurt her lungs and she wanted to stop, and even then she couldn't. There was still so much more – so many desperate questions with no answers.

Slowly they faded away, and there was just sadness and hurt and anger at herself and everyone else and there was no way to express it.

_Stop crying!_

She couldn't scream it, so consumed by her other actions. There was no voice left in her even to whimper. _Stop! I command you to stop!_ Her body didn't listen. Not until it had had its fill, and she was so exhausted and breathless that the last of her body collapsed, limp against the ground like a rag doll.

With that thump, there was no more sound, except those of nature around her. She could not gasp, or cry, or speak, or even think. All was quiet. It was frightening, even.

Some time must have passed when she got to her leaden feet, using the sword in its scabbard as a crutch. The sky was dark – not like night, just like it was grey, without color. The world was washed out.

_Is this where you want to be?_

She didn't ask it. _I don't know_. _What would he think?_

_Who? _

_Anyone. Kind of a depressing place, isn't it_? That's what Mugen would think, anyway. She was sure of it. He was not patient. Or maybe he was, in a way she didn't understand. Like Nadi-sama was patient with her husband and with her own body, which always failed her, denying her the one thing she wanted – a child of her own. Who had that kind of saintliness?

She watched the raven that had been following her fly past her at last, coming to rest on a branch.

Everyone was so patient. Everyone was sitting, waiting in their place for the next challenge, the next pleasure, the next event. _Why am I wandering?_

She'd once asked Mugen where he was from, when she knew him well enough that 'Japan' was not specific enough of an answer. Was he from a big city, or a small town? Did he live on a farm?

"_Hell, Jorgi-chan_," he had said. "_I'm from Hell_. _I was born there, so I suppose, anywhere is better than there_."

_"The Vicar says if you pray and do good things you won't go to Hell."_

_ "What if you started out there? Did he say what happens then?"_

She didn't understand it now, much less as a little girl. _"No. He didn't."_ Later, Brian Maddox explained to her that Mugen was born in a very bad area, where there was famine and rioting, and he left when he was very young. He probably had no clear memories of the place. She didn't know what that meant, to be from somewhere so terrible you could never go home. "_It means you have nowhere to go._" Mugen, of course, didn't say it kindly just because she was a kid. He talked with her the same way he talked with anyone – on the same level. He just took her more seriously.

_"What are you going to do, Mugen-san?"_

_"Heh. I tried to plan my life out once. I was going to be in a gang, and then get rich by stealing, and have a giant palace like a daimyo. I was a stupid kid and it was a stupid plan. And that's how I got these."_ He touched one of his convict tattoos. "Now _I don't make plans_."

"_I don't know anyone else who lives that way_."

"_Not a lot of people do_."

She eyed the raven, but it didn't seem malevolent, and she was too weak to do anything about it, anyway. All she knew was, she couldn't stay there, staring at it, unless she wanted to do that forever.

_ "Does it make you lonely, Mugen-san?"_

"_Oi, what kind of kid are you, worrying about someone like me? I'm the person, you wonder, 'why is he still alive?' I should be dead, so many times over. I'm busy being that."_

"_Being what, Mugen-san?_"

"_Alive_."

He didn't have time for anything else. He didn't make time for anything else. She had so much – she could remember now. Geoffrey. Alison. Mama and Papa. Charles, Eliza, Edmund – the list went on and on. They were all counting on her not to fail them. Mugen was the only one who asked her not to fail herself. That challenge was never meant for him. He could very well not be alive. They had been out of contact for years. Was she chasing a ghost? Did it matter?

Balance. That was what he told her. Perfect balance. It was what she spent hours in the wintertime by a freezing cold river trying to achieve, often upside down, only to return just in time to escape her governess' notice. It helped her walk on stilts. It was what provided her with the grace to escape anything, to face any foe bigger and stronger and maybe even faster than she was. _Was he really being so literal?_

She watched again, her leap into the tree and out again, and the apple falling behind her. Flawed, but she was rusty. She could get better. But what was the point? What was the final lesson?

"I can't wait. I need it now!" she said. Her voice was eerie. She looked up at the world, upside down. "I can't go on without it. Mugen, you bastard, you left me! You left me to gaijin who drink tea and get married and don't understand _anything_!"

She could see the tree again, so much like the shape of a man, lifting up to reach the sky and knowing full well it was impossible. She would have to hit it just right. She would have to concentrate. "I hate you!" She crouched low.

There it was. She hadn't lost it; it had dropped. Her balance had dropped, heavy from carrying another life, and it didn't come back up. There was a weight on her that wasn't on Mugen, who couldn't possibly _begin_ to understand the _agony_ she had suffered.

She threw the blade, and it struck the tree, embedding itself in the solid wood. The raven flew away in fear. She regained herself, breathing heavily. Perfect.

With a satisfied fury she pulled the sword free, taking bark with it, and in a flurry, attacked every branch, bush, and item in her path that would not hurt the blade. Nothing could hurt it, or hurt her, as long as she kept moving. _I hate you I hate you I hate you!_ Down they went, falling slower than she moved, so they were still catching up and she had to pause to see the destruction she had caused.

And it was all totally, utterly perfect.

She was too little and too weak. He told her that outright. _"Big stupid gaijin, they fight with muscles. Inner strength is what you have to use. Then no one can defeat you."_ He couldn't have meant strength of character, looking back on it. He was a gambler, a womanizer, and a vagrant. He tried to describe it, but she didn't understand, so he said to find balance and she would find it herself. Like it was inside of her, to be scooped out and formed into something else. Like a child.

She lowered her blade and changed her stance, stepping into the stream. It was only a foot deep at its center, with her sandals sinking into the riverbed, but she didn't mind. It didn't set her off. Flowing – she remembered now. _Ki _was what Liu Xiao called it, when she was old enough to understand it. It could kill people. He said people could do it with their touch.

Georgie brought her blade so that its tip was just penetrating the water, and she took off, watching the water come up beside her, because of _her_ and what _she_ did with her _ki_. Her inner strength. The blade began to shake from the force of it all and was hard to hold on to. Eventually she had to turn, and spin around, and the wall of water was tricked into going sideways, splashing into the rock wall and spraying back at her. The force alone knocked her down.

She was lying on the ground, her feet still in the stream, her sword on the ground beside her. She was cold, wet and dirty and yet she had never felt cleaner. She had never felt more alive.

* * *

"Mrs. Darcy!"

Georgie carefully removed her shoes as she entered, still dripping a little onto the floor of their wonderful hall in their wonderful home, with their wonderfully horrified servants who were now rushing to help their mistress, as if she was in some distress. One of them put a cloth over her to serve as a towel, and eventually a proper bathrobe was found. It was she who had to remove the scabbard from over her shoulder and slide the blade back in with a definitive click. Did they all hear it resonate like she did?

She shook her hair out, like a dog. It worked surprising well.

"Should we call the master, marm?"

"It's not that big of a house," she said. "He's probably heard you." They had been making most of the fuss.

True to her prediction, Geoffrey did emerge from the library. He did his best not to look perturbed. She had to give him credit for that as she put a towel on her head in the middle of the hallway. "Welcome back."

"Where's our daughter?"

"Asleep."

She said to the servant, "Have my breakfast brought to the Nursery." She handed off the towel and closed the robe over her wet clothes. "When did you put her down?"

"A little while ago. I've forgotten."

Barefoot, she made no noise as she entered the Nursery, where Alison was sleeping in her crib. Like her father, she slept on her stomach. One tiny hand still clutched the leg of a doll her godfather had sent from Italy, to replace the one she destroyed by playing in the mud with it. Neither of them had the heart to stop her at the time, but it was the end of that doll. The toddler's hair was definitely her mother's, appearing almost orange when the sun hit it just right. "My baby," she said, stroking Alison's hair, which now came down to her shoulders.

With her own energy, this was what she had created.

She'd had help, and that help made a good deal more noise with his boots when he entered.

"She's so beautiful," she said in a whisper.

"I know," he said. "I don't quite know how it's possible for something so wonderful to exist."

Next Chapter - A Fool's Errand

* * *


	8. A Fool's Errand

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 8 - A Fool's Errand

"Are you serious?"

"Do you think I am not capable of being so?"

Brian Maddox paced the study. He and Princess Nadezhda were the first invited guests of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy of Lancashire (excepting George Wickham). They were not told the real reason for the invitation prior to their arrival, but they would not pass on the coveted opportunity to see how Georgie was faring. When she greeted them she was thin, and obviously weak, but she did put up an effort to be pleased at their arrival.

"Honestly, I thought you would support the idea," Georgie said.

"It is very dangerous," Nadezhda said.

"We've no intention of doing anything illegal," Geoffrey assured them.

"Nonetheless, it would be a fool's errand."

"What is the worst that could happen?"

"We all die at sea."

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. "That can happen on the way to France. _Aside_ from that."

Brian stuck his arms into the folds of his kimono. "You are aware that the country does not admit foreigners, except at a certain port, and only for good reason, and only for a limited time. In fact, they may not allow you access to the grounds of Nagasaki at all. The foreigners are hosted at Dejima, a city built on wharfs in the sea, with only bridges connecting them. You have to have permission from the governor to cross the bridge."

"And only during daylight," Nadezhda added.

"And only at great expense," Brian said.

"We have fifty thousand pounds," Georgie offered.

Brian looked at his wife, then back at Geoffrey, "The reason I say it is a fool's errand is not only will you have no access to the country, but as soon as they establish that you have no real business there other than personal, they will simply send you off to Batavia, in Indonesia, to await the ship's return. Or they may exclude Georgie and Alison and send _them_ back but give you permission to stay in Dejima. Even if we could pass you as a company man, we certainly could not for a wife and child, unless the governor is in an exceptionally good mood. In other words you may travel three months – or more – just to turn around and go home again."

"We're willing to take that chance."

Seeing they would not be swayed, Brian nodded to his wife, who turned to Georgie. "Jorgi-chan, there is every reason to believe that Mugen is no longer with us. He has never responded to any of our couriers that we dispatched throughout the country since he sent his sword, and we do not even know that he sent it." The Darcys had not even given the reason they wanted to go to Japan; they did not have to.

Georgie did not wait to formulate an answer. "I know that. And if I have to wait in Batavia while we wait for an answer, I will. But _I've_ never had a chance to write him."

"She's not to be swayed, Mr. Maddox," Geoffrey said.

Brian began pacing again. "You'll have to learn Japanese. Fluently. They will provide interpreters, but I won't leave it to chance."

"I know," Geoffrey said.

"And about their customs, as a misunderstanding will get you killed. It is completely legal to kill foreigners there if they have cause, and they can find one easily enough."

"We know."

"It would take months to arrange the transport. We'll have to go to Holland to catch the ship, arrange for some purpose for you to accompany us – and you will have to eventually get your father to agree."

"My father does not need to agree," Geoffrey replied. "I don't inquire as to his reasons for traveling and he can give his opinion on mine, but I have every intention of doing this and the means to do it."

"It won't be so easy."

"You do not have to tell _me_ that, Mr. Maddox."

Geoffrey did not look even remotely hesitant. Brian looked at his wife again, and sighed. "I'm afraid that though it is to our advantage to do so, we cannot refuse you."

* * *

It was the first dinner they hosted as a couple, since the incident, and it was a success. Georgie even laughed a few times, though she tugged on Geoffrey's hand. She looked tired, and there was little after-dinner entertainment. Brian and Nadezhda were ever-accommodating guests, and while Nadezhda went to help Georgie put Alison to bed, Geoffrey sat outside in the brisk fall air with Mr. Maddox, smoking the Indian pipe the latter brought with him. It did not smell of tobacco, and it was much easier on the throat than a cigar, which he found distasteful.

"Good for digestion," Brian said, after teaching him the proper way to hold it.

"Do they smoke in Japan?"

"From little pipes – and tobacco is very expensive. Most people are farmers, and they aren't allowed. It's considered wasteful." He exhaled the apple-scented smoke. "You are asking a lot of yourself. You are a pampered Englishman."

"So are you."

"It was not always this way. I also do not mind being an outcast or a laughingstock."

Geoffrey looked at Mr. Maddox, with one sword in his cloth belt and the other, longer one resting in his lap. "It is very hard to laugh at you."

"How is your fencing? Be honest."

He looked away. "My abilities are limited. If I win, it is because my opponent makes a mistake, or I trick him somehow."

"Have you fenced since Cambridge?"

"A little."

"You're not good enough for the way I fight, are you?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "I can try, but I think it will be too much motion. If I can't keep my head straight, I don't last very long."

"Are you allowed to fire a gun?"

"Yes. I can shoot quite well, actually. I have to wear an earpiece, but it does not distract me."

Brian nodded, playing with the mouthpiece end of the pipe. "If you have a gun, you'll be very safe. The trouble is they'll search you." He rubbed his chin. "We'll have to break the pieces down, and hide them in something else. And you'll have to bring the metal and make your own bullets there. They won't be good bullets, but if they don't explode, that will be good enough."

"Firearms are outlawed in Japan?"

"Not outlawed, but restricted. The shogun – the warlord who controls the kingdom – had them destroyed when he defeated his rivals. He wanted peace, so he disarmed almost everyone. He took swords away from everyone but the samurai, and guns away from everyone but his chosen soldiers. For two hundred years, there has not been a war in Japan, and his dynasty is unchallenged. The guns they do have are often very old technology. Our soldiers would laugh at them."

"Why don't they?"

He shrugged. "Japan is too hard to get to, to launch a serious attack. Perhaps if we conquer India, it will be possible."

They fell into an easy silence. Gawain came up beside Geoffrey and Geoffrey stroked his fur, which had become rougher and grey with age.

"I always thought Georgie would do this," Brian said. "When she married you, it seemed, perhaps not. I was even preparing to give up the thought – until now." He sighed. "There could be some complications if she becomes with child on the journey."

"I don't think that will be a problem."

To Geoffrey's horror, Brian just smiled. "So. That is the state of things."

Geoffrey grumbled and didn't respond.

"There are ways – "

"I know. They don't work."

"Oh. Well, that explains Alison, does it not?" Brian laughed, and Geoffrey's face burned. "You're a married man now. It is a legitimate question to ask, if your _wife_ wants to lay off childbearing."

As horrifying as it was to ask, now he was obligated to. It had never occurred to him that he could simply do so. Brian was right; it was legitimate, with Georgie so weakened by her previous pregnancy. "Do you have a recommendation for a doctor?"

"Don't bother with my brother; he's always stayed away from that end of medicine. You are not, in fact, required to travel very far for your answers." Brian took another puff, and exhaled to blow a ring of smoke. "There was a time when Nadezhda and I had not given up all hope, and were scourging to the ends of the earth – somewhat literally – for an answer."

"I do not understand."

"The process works both ways. There were any number of things – brews, fruits, teas, items – that we were told to stay away from. Things that would decrease fertility, as it was termed. I'll have to discuss it with her, to remember them all."

Geoffrey shielded his eyes from Brian's amused stare. "If you ever tell _anyone_ – "

"There is a lot I do not tell anyone, Mr. Darcy – unless it is relevant. Or especially hilarious. Did I ever tell you of the time I paid a whore to – "

"_Yes_, you did. Before my wedding, if you don't recall."

"Oh? Oh, yes. I do." He smiled. "Well, I won't embarrass you any further. I do hope I was of some help."

He rose, and bowed very low. "You were, Mr. Maddox."

* * *

_If only it was that simple_. Mr. Reynolds changed him into his bedclothes, he checked on his daughter, and was about to blow out the lights when he heard the sound of weeping. Holding his breath, he opened the door joining his room and Georgie's, which had been closed for months. "Georgie?"

She sat on the bed, her sword on the table with the various odd cleaning tools she used. She was unharmed, but doubled over, her head in her hands. He dared to sit unbidden next to her. "Georgie." She did not resist when he pulled her into his arms. "What is it? What can I do?"

"I don't know. I don't know," she said. "I am happy, I think. I don't know why – " She coughed. "I don't know why I'm crying."

He stroked her hair. "Do you remember it was like this when Alison was born? You would cry for no reason." He whispered, "There's nothing wrong with you."

"I hate it," she said. "I hate all this misery."

"I also remember that it passed," he said, "and you were better. And we were very happy."

She sobbed into his bed robe. "Don't leave me."

With a pang of guilt, he tried to suppress his instincts towards how good that made him feel. "I won't."

Though her tears did stop, she did not release him, and they fell asleep on top of the covers of her bed, still holding each other.

* * *

"What do you think?"

Nadezhda didn't respond at first. She was busy with her sewing. Only she knew how to properly stitch back up the sleeves of their kimonos when the strings came loose, and Brian had a habit of decimating his rare and authentic clothing. "I think Georgie's not well."

"She's lost weight." He sighed and removed his swords, setting them down on the stand. "Do you think Mugen will answer us this time?"

"If she writes him."

"Nady," he said, "be honest with yourself. What makes you think he's alive?"

"He promised her he would be, and these are the sort of promises he keeps."

"I asked you to be realistic."

She finally set the shirt down and looked at him. "Even if he isn't, it will be some closure, perhaps, and she needs it. You know quite well I won't deny her anything. If she wants to go to Japan, and put her life at risk, and her husband's life, and her daughter's life, then I will support her. And I will make you support her."

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You don't have to make me."

* * *

It was settled. Brian and Nadezhda did not tarry; they would have to go to Holland and try to catch the returning boat and speak to the captain about the current conditions in the country. Only two ships a year were allowed into Dejima, and one would depart again in the spring. Before then, Geoffrey would have to learn Japanese, Georgie would have to return to health, and _someone_ would have to tell the family at large.

"I cannot repay you," Geoffrey said.

"You can by staying alive if we see this through," Brian said. "I would prefer not to end this mission with seppuku, but it is better than facing Darcy and Bingley."

Only when they were gone did Georgie explain what he meant. Geoffrey didn't know the term, and didn't understand at first that Brian was probably being perfectly serious.

Georgie picked up their daughter, who was playing in the sand garden and getting herself all messy again. "Do you suppose we should get her vaccinated?"

"I suppose we should all be vaccinated. For ... whatever they have over there." The sight of Georgie holding their daughter brought a smile to his face. "Are we bringing a nurse?"

"Nadi-sama said she would ask the Dutch; they would know. One more person might be a problem." She looked at Alison. "What do you think? We've not even consulted you! Do you want to go to Japan?"

"Japan, Alison?" Geoffrey said to their befuddled daughter.

"Alisan!" she said, raising her arm.

"No, _Japan_. Though that is your name."

"Gawan!"

"No, that's the dog."

She put her hand in her mouth. "Grangran!"

Georgie just rolled her eyes.

* * *

The Darcys of Lancashire traveled to Pemberley for the harvest festival. It was important for Geoffrey Darcy to see and be seen by his future tenants, who were eager as usual to see the Darcy clan up-close, especially the father with a young daughter. It was even more important for the family to see Georgiana, and for the family to see her making strides. On only one day of their stay did her mood sink and she requested to remain in her quarters on some other excuse.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Of course," Geoffrey said, "when he's properly inebriated."

"Geoffrey."

He kissed her. "He is not the ogre you think him to be."

"I do not think Uncle Darcy an ogre!"

"Overprotective parents can seem like it, can they not?"

To this, she could give him no reply without sacrificing her point.

In the hours of the actual festival, they were utterly consumed by hosting duties, even though they were not master and mistress of Pemberley. Everyone wanted to see the Darcy grandchild and how she was growing, and a few men dared to pat Geoffrey on the back and assure him the next one would be a son. Alison appreciated the attention more than her parents or grandparents, and she was taken away after a short period, where she could kick and scream to her content in the Nursery, under the staff and Cassandra Darcy's care.

"I don't see why I'm not allowed to stay," Cassandra said as she tried to settle Alison in her crib. The toddler seemed to be expressing the same sentiment in whining and gibberish. "And don't start with this nonsense of being out. People could care less if my hair is up or down. Besides, what can you say of it? Your hair isn't _either_."

Georgie ignored that. "I needn't remind you that your father just wants to protect you from leering old men."

"My father wants to protect me from having fun. Since when are you on his side? Because you're Mrs. Geoffrey Darcy?"

"Because I'm a parent," Georgie replied.

Downstairs, Geoffrey was walking around in a bit of a fuzz, having had a few more glasses of wine than he had had in a long time. It was not his tradition to intoxicate himself at the Harvest Festival – in fact, quite the opposite – but he lacked his cousins George, Charles, and Frederick, and now he lacked his wife. He was relieved she wasn't there each time he heard those reassurances about her next pregnancy, which was sure to be soon and sure to produce an heir, but they also had the unexpected result of making him moody. No, Georgiana was not pregnant – he was _positive_ of that.

"Cheer up, nephew," Uncle Bingley said. "You're starting to look like your father."

He bowed. "Uncle Bingley."

"Geoffrey. It is good to see you. And good to see Georgie looking so well."

Geoffrey smiled. "It is."

"There is a rumor on the wind that my business partner has gone to Holland on your behalf – would you care to enlighten me?"

"I was going to make a more formal announcement when we're sure," he said. Maybe the brandy in his glass made him feel less inhibited, or it was his uncle's easy smile. "Georgie wants to go to Japan in the spring and I want to take her."

His uncle's face went through a series of reactions, but the first thing he said was, "And you were putting off telling Darcy?"

"If I'm going to infuriate my father, I might as well do it when I'm sure there's a proper end to the means. And it will do just that. I've never done anything so foolish, especially without his consent."

"What is so foolish?"

Geoffrey groaned. Of course he hadn't heard his father walk up behind him. The musicians were too loud. He turned, and bowed. "Father."

"Answer my question."

"In good time," he said. "First, I think I might need another glass of brandy."

* * *

The evening's festivities were over and the guests departed, but there was no peace in the Darcy house.

"You want to _what?_"

Geoffrey turned to his wife and said, "Why does everyone say that? It's a perfectly comprehensible sentence."

His father turned to Bingley and said, "I blame you for this."

Bingley replied, "I blame Brian for this."

"Fortunately for him he's in Holland."

"And armed."

"No one is at fault for anything," Geoffrey said, standing by his wife's side in his father's study. The air of disapproval (from his father) and concern (from his mother, aunt, and uncle) did not bother him. He knew perfectly well – despite his slight inebriation – what he was about. "We wish to travel, as many fashionable couples with young children or without young children do, to an exotic location. For personal reasons, we've chosen Japan. I've never been out of the country and Georgiana's never been further than France. With the rest of my cousins darting about or living abroad, I don't see what is so exceptional."

"They are exploring reasonable places," Darcy said.

"Safe places," his mother said. She meant to soften it.

"Is Europe not full of disease, bandits, and occasional wars?" Georgie said. "As for the dangers of sea travel, we'd need a ship to go anywhere; we _live_ on an island."

"There is quite a difference between two hours to Ireland and three months to Nippon," Bingley said. "Those merchant ships don't always come back."

"When was the last time there was a wreck?"

He fumbled. "Three – four years I think."

"And disease," Aunt Bingley said. "Georgie, your father had to sleep under a net to keep from getting bitten while he was in India. A single bite from the wrong bug would kill him."

"And yet the British presence in India survives," she said. "Besides, we're not going to India. We're going to a country with no known plagues and a culture obsessed with cleanliness."

"And obsessed with fighting," Darcy said.

"Uncle Brian just makes it seem that way, Uncle," she replied. "There hasn't been a war in two hundred years. The swords are ceremonial."

"He said the warriors train with them because they have nothing else to do with their time," Geoffrey added.

"Mr. Bingley," his mother said, "you were briefly in Japan. Is it not true that foreigners are confined to a single port?"

"Not even. We were confined to a single complex of wooden houses that sit on docks _outside_ a single port. I only set foot on land maybe half a dozen times there, and all under the pretense of business."

"We know that," his daughter replied. "Her Highness said something about an ambassadorship. Then we would get to go to Edo."

Bingley nodded despite himself. "That could work."

"Bingley, don't encourage them!" Darcy said. "You are not going to Japan, and you are not taking our granddaughter to Japan!"

"We are," Geoffrey said calmly, and without hesitation, "and if you intend to cut off my funds to stop us, we have calculated that fifty thousand pounds is more than enough to not only get us there and back with all the right bribes, but allow us to live comfortably when we return. That is, if you want to threaten to disinherit me."

His mother interrupted, "Your father would never – "

"He would threaten to," Geoffrey said. His father stood there, with his mouth open, but saying nothing. "But it won't work. Now I can promise you that we will only do this if the Dutch East India Company says it's possible, and we will do it with every bit of care and with full legality. We will all be vaccinated, and have Mr. Maddox and her Highness to protect us. Foreigners are not killed in Japan for no reason. And yes, we might be confined to a port and then sent home, but so be it. The ship will have to make stops on the way and we will have our fill seeing Capetown and Batavia and wherever else they stop." He continued before his father could respond, "We are going to go through with this, and would like your blessing. Otherwise, we will do without."

"And Alison?"

"I've no intention of missing two years of my daughter's life," Georgie said, "and many mothers bring their children along with them when their husbands are merchants. It's not uncommon and she will be vaccinated."

Uncle Bingley, as usual, found a reason to smile. "She'll come home speaking Japanese."

"Ought a woman to be accomplished in languages?"

His mother giggled, and his father gave her a glare, then paced angrily, but the mood in the room was turning towards their side, and Geoffrey was aware of it. "I blame you entirely for this," Darcy said, pointing to Bingley, "and I will continue to blame you for it until Brian returns, at which point I will blame you _both_."

It was not a verbal blessing on the endeavor, but it would do.

Next Chapter - Proper Englishmen

* * *


	9. Proper Englishmen

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 9 - Proper Englishmen

The Maddoxes returned from Holland with the news that the journey could proceed. The ship would grant passage to three passengers, one of whom held considerable stock in Brian's company. They would present themselves at Dejima as cultural ambassadors, and if permission was granted, they would travel to Edo for six weeks to meet the shogun.

"He owes me a favor," said Brian, referring to the warlord of Japan. "But that's a story for another time. Perhaps a very long and slow boat ride."

Even if they were turned away, they could reside at the British colony of Batavia while Brian and Nadezhda stayed in Dejima, waiting for the courier sent out in search of Mugen to return. At worse, they would enjoy the island of Java, and perhaps visit Hong Kong, provided they weren't including "death at sea" as an option.

Lessons began immediately. "Ambassadors can't look like fools, though they often do," Brian said. They traveled to the Maddox house outside of Town, where the Japanese wing was complete, down to the last detail. In case they had to disguise themselves, they had to know how to act, and the rules were complex.

"Geoffrey," Nadezhda said from her pillow. "What did you forget to do?"

Geoffrey paused, and looked down. "Right. Uhm, where – "

"By the door, on the ground. _Then_ come up to the raised platform."

He stepped back down, removed his sandals as neatly as possible, and stepped barefoot up onto the tatami mat. "Is this not bad for my feet?"

"Not if you wash them often enough," Brain said. "Now – who do you bow to first?"

"Master of the household, his wife, other guests, my wife."

"No!" Brian hit him with his closed fan. "Not to your wife. Not in another person's house, unless you're leaving her there."

"Uncle, I am beginning to suspect you just like hitting him," Georgiana said.

"I won't confirm or deny it," he said, and avoided their looks.

* * *

Georgie giggled when he entered the room that evening, after a long and complicated dinner sitting on his knees. He frowned. "Is it the fact that I'm wearing a bathrobe and slippers?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that."

"No, a proper bathrobe comes with its own belt." He undid his kimono and threw on a normal shirt for sleeping. Thank goodness they had normal guest chambers, with a real bed instead of a floor mat.

"If your father could see you now."

"Hell with my father. If Mr. Reynolds could see me now." He climbed into bed next to her, and she kissed him on the cheek.

"I am very grateful for this."

"I would hope so."

He turned on his side, away from her and everything about her that would be distracting. He reminded himself, as he usually did, that he loved Georgie and would do anything for her happiness, whatever was involved – or not involved. He sighed into his pillow and contented himself with the silence until he felt a tug on his shirt, and rolled over. "What?"

"You needn't be cross," she said, not releasing him. It made his skin tingle. "You're tense."

"I am. What of it?"

"I know it's hard for you." She rested her head on his shoulder, which made it that much more difficult for him. "I've made everything hard for you."

"That's not – "

" – true? I don't think you were hoping for a wife who would turn you out of her room. At least not this early in our marriage. You must grow bald and gouty before I do that."

"_Georgie_."

"You asked Brian about children behind my back, and you didn't think to follow up?" She had stunned him into silence. "Are you not interested in what Nadi-sama might have had to say?"

He_ was _interested. And now he knew what she meant by "Nadi-sama" because of those classes. "And?"

"_And_ ... do you want to put all of the weird teas I've been drinking for the past three days to the test? Because I'm not going to continue drinking them for the fun of it. They're gross."

"Are you serious?"

"Do you think me incapable of being so?"

He grinned. "Now I must remind you – there is a chance – "

"Which is why we should test it now, don't you think?" She frowned. "Why are you putting up such a fuss?"

"I'm not. I'm just surprised." He kissed her now-exposed shoulder. "Relieved." He kissed her neck. "Overwhelmed." It wasn't the right word, but he didn't care. He was having trouble thinking beyond how to remove her Japanese gown. With the ease that it slid off so gracefully, he regretted his earlier comments. There were certainly worthwhile advantages to their material culture.

* * *

For the first time in what seemed like a long while Geoffrey woke not worrying about his wife, or his daughter, or any familial concern. He was a guest and it was much later than he told his hosts he would be up, but that did not concern him in the least. He yawned and opened the curtain just to see the sun before climbing back into bed.

"You don't have to do this," Georgie said.

"I suppose I could return to Pemberley," he said, trailing kisses along her side, "And leave my upset wife to be smothered by her parents and relatives, seeing her only as I saw fit and spending the rest of the day at the ledgers. If that is your want."

She responded by pulling him down over her by wrapping her arms around his neck. "No, Mr. Darcy, that is not my want."

Surely, someone would watch Alison, his father would watch Pemberley, and Nadezhda would ... watch Brian. They had all the time in the world, as far as he was concerned. It was more than a physical release when they made love. There were no words to describe the satisfaction he felt, and all the tension that was gone. Only with perspective did he see how just the day before how nervous and sad he had been. If this was to be his reward for taking the family on a trip to the ends of the earth, he would willingly go a second time.

He had been dozing when she said, "Should we have risen by now?"

"It is likely."

"What time do you think they rise in Japan?"

"Oh, who knows? We might be on the ship longer than on the floating city or whatever it is."

"I hope you don't get seasick."

"I hope Alison doesn't get seasick."

"I hope you both don't," she said, "or it's over the side for you."

"Because I'm so disposable."

She giggled. He loved the way it felt when she laid against him and he could feel the vibrations from her every movement. Yes, for this, he would go to the ends of the earth – and back.

* * *

"Now that it has been established that I look ridiculous more than ever before," Geoffrey said as he stepped onto the padded floor of the practice room, wearing the pleated skirt and padded white kimono that mirrored Brian's, but for a sword, "are you going to teach me to fight?"

"One thing at a time." Brian removed his long sword, and set it on the stand, keeping only his short one. Nadezhda handed him a wooden sword, and Georgie gave one to her husband, along with a helmet.

It was metal and padded on the inside so much that he felt smothered. "You know how to intimidate someone."

Brian set one foot back and held up the wooden sword. "Geoffrey, I'm going to come at you very lightly, but very fast. I want you to try to block or get out of the way. However you do it is fine, without turning your back on me. Be prepared to be hit a few times." He tightened up. "Ready?"

"I don't think I ever will be, but go."

Brian raised the sword over his head and swung down, so as to hit Geoffrey on the top of his head. Geoffrey saw it and blocked it with his own sword, but without even moving his feet, Brian swerved and brought the pole down and shoved the tip right into Geoffrey's face grill. It was jarring, but not painful. Geoffrey staggered back, and raised his staff more protectively, barely blocking the next wide swing. He was only blocking about half the time, and though the hits did not hurt for more than a few seconds, the oncoming wooden blade was disorienting. He couldn't keep up with it, and when he tried, it made it worse.

He didn't see the last one at all.

"Uncle Brian!"

He was lying on the floor. He wasn't sure how he got there, and he could only tell it was the floor because it was against his back, as his idea of up and down was gone. Georgie appeared in an orange blur over him and removed his helmet. She wiped the hair out of his eyes. "Geoffrey?"

There were noises in the background, but he was too distracted, and his ears were still ringing from the stick striking his metal helmet. "I – that's enough. For today. I'm a bad ... Japaner."

"Uncle, I told you not to!"

"I didn't hit him that hard," Brian said, towering somewhere behind her, into infinity. "I'm sorry Geoffrey, but I had to know your limits."

He swallowed. "He didn't hit me that hard," he said to his wife, taking her hand into his. "But I would appreciate him not doing that again so soon."

They tried to sit him up, but he immediately protested for fear of making the spinning worse. Instead they brought a pillow to put under his head and water for him to sip. If he focused, he could hear Brian's dim, apologizing voice in the distance.

Geoffrey spent the next three days in bed, with the shades drawn, waiting for his head to settle. When he stayed motionless, he could be quite aware.

"You stayed up longer than I thought you would," Brian said, "but you won't last in a fight."

"I don't intend to fight."

Brian frowned and crossed his arms. "I would prefer it if you could dodge. We'll have to sneak a gun in. Not that anyone intends to leave your side."

"Or that I intend to get into trouble." He tugged Georgie's hand. "Why does everyone assume we're headed to battle?"

"Darcy won't let me hear the end of it if I don't at least attempt to convince him you'll be safe," Brian answered.

"Besides, one of us has to chase after Alison, and I'll be the capable fighter, and you the nursemaid," Georgie said.

"You're lucky I am incapacitated."

"Do you really object to the arrangement?"

He had to admit it. "No. Where is Alison? I'd like to see her."

Brian left, and the servants were informed. Eventually Nurse, who was out of his field of vision, said, "Mr. Darcy."

"Papa!"

He smiled. "Where is my favorite daughter?" With that, Alison was set down beside him, and for once, it seemed like she stood over him. She really did have her mother's hair, though it was longer. "There she is!"

"Papa figh!"

"What? Georgie?"

"It's supposed to be 'fight.' She's not quite gotten it yet."

"Our daughter's first real word is 'fight.'"

"Yes."

He let Alison climb on his stomach. "Why am I not surprised?"

* * *

When Geoffrey could sit up, the lessons continued in a considerably more subdued tone. For the moment he had only to tackle the language, which he found confounding enough when he was well and able to stand on his own. It was almost a relief to have a few hours off when Danny Maddox arrived. He was eager for another sparring partner.

"They won't let you do this at Cambridge, I suppose," Georgie said as she was handed the bokken.

"I'm to understand they don't even let you do it at all," he replied, and bowed to her.

Geoffrey sat far on the sidelines, Alison in his lap and Nadezhda at his side, as Brian was referee. "Can you see Mama fight? Point to Mama." Alison pointed in the general direction and laughed, but it was hard to get a pinpoint on Georgie, who was moving so quickly. She was much faster than Danny, and he was fast. "Is his father aware of his hobby?"

"Considering Frederick's hobbies, Danny's are viewed as mostly harmless," Princess Nadezhda said. "I suspect since they know he'll lose his vision soon, they're letting him do as he pleases. He's put off Cambridge. I heard he might travel to the Continent next year."

"It is quite fashionable to be abroad, it seems," Geoffrey said, and lowered his voice. "His father's sight lasted until ... well, I was in Cambridge."

"Danny had cataract surgery on his left eye about a year ago," she replied. "It was not a complete failure, but the eye is damaged and he can't see well out of it. So he has just the one."

"You can make it far with just one of something G-d gave you two of to start," he said.

"Danny's nervous. The surgery was difficult on him. He expects the worst."

"I wish his frustration was not being vented on my wife."

"I do not think he is being successful at that."

Daniel Maddox Junior dropped like a stone. The thrust into his chest gear had seemed light, but it wasn't, and Brian called the match. Danny sat up and Georgie helped him pull off his helmet, revealing a mess of orange curls as he was handed his glasses.

"This of course is different," Nadezhda said. "In a real fight, with blades and no armor, unless the opponents are evenly matched, the fight is over in one move, maybe two. Bushido strikes are meant to kill, not to poke gently like English fencers."

Geoffrey couldn't help but ask, "Have you ever seen a man go down in one hit?"

"Many times. Too many times."

The brutality of it was striking. They were hitting each other hard, not stopping until one of them fell, and to Geoffrey's great relief it was always Danny. He lasted a long time, but Georgie was better – or at least faster. English fencing was a touch sport – not this brutal-yet-elegant series of cuts meant to sever a limb, a torso, or a head. What kind of country were they going to? He hugged Alison a little tighter.

* * *

Their stay lasted until they had to return to the north, to pack their bags for Derbyshire and the Christmas season. Geoffrey was content despite the upcoming peril he would be putting his family in. Alison had learned a few new words (including some in Japanese), and Georgie looked more and more her old self. She had inescapable moments of sadness that could last a day or even two, but she knew they were irrational and he knew they would pass and together they would manage. Her courses also continued to return each month. Either her body was uneager to open again so easily or the tea was working, but they would not jinx it by questioning it. Georgie was so close to being herself again that Geoffrey did not think he could bear her being otherwise. Yes, he found much this holiday to be grateful for.

The day before they were set to leave Lancashire, it snowed. "Alison?" he asked, noticing her standing up on the settee in the hallway to see out the window. "What is it?"

"Mama!" she said, and he wiped the glass but saw only a dashing figure before the door opened with a gust of cold air.

"Oh G-d," Georgie said, kicking off her sandals. "Hot water!" she screamed at the doorman, who bowed and scurried off as she stepped in the cold water. "Oh, that hurts." A maid appeared, bearing water from the kitchen, and Georgie stepped from cold to hot. "Ow! Oh, I cannot catch a break."

"Maybe you should at least wear socks," he said. "I won't have you sick."

"You don't get sick if you do the cold water before the hot water," she said, wiping her face with her scarf. "Besides, it's invigorating."

"We should ask Dr. Maddox about that."

"I already have a response from one Maddox. Why do I need another?" She kissed him with her very cold lips and made for her quarters, Alison and Gawain trailing behind her.

"Because the one you chose is a madman," he answered, even though she was very much out of earshot.

The next day she was dressed properly, bundled up and ready to go. They had new dresses for Alison, who had outgrown her old ones with alarming speed. They paused in the entrance as the cart was being loaded. "Georgie, I don't think we should leave Gawain behind."

"Do you think he's up to it? The cold seems to bother him so."

"It's a short ride." He said in a lower voice, "It might be our last Christmas with him."

"Sir Gawain, as I recall, does not commonly attend church," she said. "Nonetheless, I agree." Gawain padded to her and buried his nose in her gown. He was thinner than he had been in previous years, and moved very slowly, especially in the cold. Geoffrey did not take him for long walks anymore. Gawain was fourteen, so it was not unexpected, but they hadn't spoken much of it. The hound was Geoffrey's childhood companion; it was only an unexpected honor that he lived long enough for their daughter to bond with him.

He petted Gawain on his head and neck. "So it's off to Pemberley, then. To make the pretense of being the normal, proper English family that we are."

"We are proper _and_ English," Georgie said. "And a family. The rest is of little consequence, and anyone with an objection has long-since made their peace with it."

"I surely hope so," he said, picking up his daughter to carry her out to the carriage without getting her clothes wet from the snow. Georgie followed, and finally Gawain, and their carriage was complete.

"To Pemberley, sir?" the coachman asked.

"To Pemberley," he replied. "And Happy Christmas."

...Next Chapter - Christmas at Pemberley

* * *


	10. Christmas at Pemberley

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Author's Note: A previous commentator was right: Batavia was in Indonesia, not Suriname. Thank you for helping me make the correction.

You must be logged in to see it. It's under "Series News."

* * *

Chapter 10 - Christmas at Pemberley

_To Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Darcy,_

_I wish first to say I hope this letter (and the packages) reaches you before the holiday, or at least before my niece's birthday. There was a last-minute rush with the toymaker but if the weather is fair you should have this by Christmas._

_As my parents will no doubt mention, this should be my last one abroad, as I've promised them to return in the summer with Frederick. We saw each other briefly as he is touring several sites in Rome where we will meet up for Christmas before he leaves for Greece to see the Acropolis, or that is what he says he is doing. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised to learn he is proficient in spoken Greek as well as the ancient philosopher's tongue we learned in school. (He said something about charming Grecian ladies that I dare not repeat.)_

_Everything is well here. The weather is fine, though I imagine I'll be nostalgic for a white Christmas in Derbyshire again soon enough after writing this. _

_I heard a rumor that you might be traveling abroad soon. I hope you will consider Italy, as it is quite lovely, especially on the coast. My villa is open to you if I am still there, though I sense our parents would prefer if I weren't. What they imagine I am to do when I return, I have no idea, except the life of an idle gentleman waiting to inherit, so I don't see quite why it's required for me to do it in filthy London and not beautiful Venice, but perhaps I'll see that logic soon enough._

_Georgiana, I wish you well on your recovery. Geoffrey, I wish you well on putting up with my sister and hope she is not reading this while in a foul mood for your sake, as I am safely away. All of my love to Alison, of course, and the family. _

_Happy Christmas!_

___Charles Bingley III_

As it turned out, Georgie was in a good mood – good enough to hear from her brother as Alison bounced on her lap and Geoffrey read the letter. "Mama already told me she is relieved maybe three times since we've arrived," she said.

"He does have a point. When he returns to England, he can either become a dissolute rake – and I don't think he has it in him – or he can be a handsome, wealthy bachelor on that terrible market that I so assiduously avoided."

"Charles likes flirting."

"Charles likes dancing. It's different."

She sighed. "I can't imagine him married. My baby brother."

He set the letter aside, next to the still-wrapped packages for Christmas and Alison's second birthday. "I'm sure Edmund feels neglected by that."

"I think Edmund would prefer to not be considered a baby, so he'll manage," she said. "It's Eliza who misses him the most, but she might not be forceful enough in the manner in which she says it. If only there was someone to take her to Italy."

"She could marry and her honeymoon could be in Rome."

"I know!" she replied. "She and Anne could have a double wedding and they could both have their husbands take them far abroad."

Geoffrey frowned. "That's not what I meant."

"You're just like your father."

"I am not!"

"You are when I mention marriage and your sisters in the same sentence."

He looked away. The window was convenient. "Perhaps you have a point."

* * *

There were some absences at Christmas that year. The Maddoxes came minus their elder son. The Bertrands and the Townsends invited the Bradleys to Longbourn, so that side of the Bennet family was elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. Saul Franklin were finishing their tour of the Continent in Paris with their brother George. The Kincaids and the Bellamonts filled out Pemberley, so there was no shortage of guests at the very long table.

"'Tis a bit of a shame," Georgie said to her mother in the sitting room afterwards, as they watched Alison make a close inspection of all of the unfamiliar furniture, "that there is no one Alison's age in our immediate circles." Patrick Bellamont and Robert Kincaid were approaching their teens, and were only willing to tolerate her antics for a short while.

"Your father and his sisters were years apart, and they were very close," Mrs. Bingley said. "They don't talk much about their early years. In beginning they were quite poor, and at least to your aunt, it's somewhat of an embarrassment. Or was."

"What was?" Aunt Maddox said, appearing in the room without warning upon the uttering of the word 'embarrassment.'

"Nothing, Aunt Maddox."

"Nothing, Caroline."

Caroline Maddox frowned and turned her attentions to Alison, who was doing her best to get the cabinet door open, but hardly succeeding in her duel with the heavy glass doors – especially because they were locked. "You'll never get anywhere that way, darling."

"Alison," Georgie shouted. "Say hello to Aunt Maddox. Hello."

Alison smiled and turned to her mother. "Hello!"

"No, to your aunt!"

Finally the toddler did turn around and pointed to Lady Maddox. "Hello!"

"Aren't you precious? You have your father's smile, don't you?"

Georgie rolled her eyes. "She does, apparently." She rose to curtsey to her other aunt. "Aunt Darcy."

"She gets that from my side, doesn't she?" Elizabeth Darcy said, taking hold of one of Alison's tiny fists. "Everyone knows Bennet sisters smile too much."

"It is only implied by way of the fact that I have never seen Mr. Darcy smile."

"Caroline!" Jane said. "Not never."

"No event comes to mind upon immediate retrospection."

"He was grumpy when you were his constant companion," Elizabeth said.

Fortunately before Aunt Maddox could respond, Alison shouted, "Granma!" and attracted attention away from Caroline's glare. "Figh! No! Papa!"

"She's just showing off the words she knows," Georgie said.

"What was the first one?"

Georgie sunk lower in her seat. "Fight."

* * *

With his wife and daughter pulled away from him, Geoffrey felt himself a bit lost, an unusual feeling for the heir to Pemberley. George, Charles, and Frederick were all abroad, and he'd always been distant from Edmund – or Edmund had always been distant from him. That did not mean he was not able to attempt a conversation, and he found the younger Bingley cousin an eager talker that evening. "Are you really going to Japan?"

"That is our intention."

"They're really letting you?"

"They're not letting us," he said. "We're going."

"But there will be consequences. People have ways of enacting consequences."

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. "If you mean nagging me nearly to death, yes, they are certainly capable of that. Some burdens you just have to bear."

"But Uncle Darcy wouldn't disinherit you. He doesn't have other sons."

Geoffrey frowned. "What is it with your concerns? You know Uncle Bingley will provide for you, even if you weren't intending to make a living by yourself. With your intelligence, you'll probably end up wealthier than your brother. Yet you're positively obsessed with it." He took another swig of brandy. "Apologies, but it is something I've wondered about for some time and even Georgiana cannot enlighten me."

"I do not have to explain it to you."

Geoffrey was used to that odd temper that seemed to come from some of the Bingley cousins. "You do not have to, of course. I am merely asking out of curiosity. And concern."

"Why are you concerned about me? Have I exhibited some bizarre behavior?"

"Not precisely. Let us suppose just that I am familiar with the subtype."

Edmund looked away, and said, "What would you know? You have everything handed to you."

"As do you, and I will insert this for your sister – you ungrateful twit. Men would die for what Uncle Bingley will no doubt bequeath to you, and you must know he'd pay for whatever you wanted, unless I am severely mistaken in his character."

"You're not," Edmund replied. "I am misunderstood. What I mean is, your place in life is secure, provided you don't foul it up in Japan by getting yourself or my sister killed."

"Provided that, yes. On the other hand, I have the obligations of Pemberley and Derbyshire, where you could become a plantation owner in the Bahamas if you so cared."

"Or I could run away to Italy."

"You're awfully cross! There's no reason to insult Charles out of jealousy."

Oddly, Edmund did smile with that. "Not out of jealousy, I assure you. I would not want to be in his shoes."

"Ha! So you don't want to be the older son, destined to inherit an estate not of your choosing and to linger until your parents die so that you may do so?"

"That is again not what I meant," he said. "Charles is running from something else."

"From what? Marriage?"

"You could say that." Edmund was being evasive again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy. I cannot appropriately explain my supposed melancholia. You will have to look elsewhere for answers." He bowed, and left, nearly bumping into his sister on the way out.

"Geoffrey," Eliza Bingley said as she curtseyed, and he rose to bow.

"Eliza."

"Was my brother being abominable again?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"You would be doing him a service by not saying the obvious."

He calmly responded, "Conversation does not come easily to everyone."

"How did you get like that?" She knelt to pet Gawain, who growled softly at her in greeting.

"Get like what?"

"I am tempted to use the word mature, for lack of a better one. And don't let it imply anything. You were always the sensible one."

"I will simply take your compliments, then, and answer to the best of my abilities: marriage and children."

"May I say something to you in confidence?"

"Of course."

She lowered her voice. "I've never seen Georgiana as she is now."

"How do you mean?"

Eliza didn't seem at all displeased. "For one, she gets along with Mama so well, most of the time, and she never did."

"Perhaps not never."

"Not never, but she never confided in her."

"Perhaps you underestimate Georgie," he said with a smile. "Though there is some truth in what you say. They have some common ground now, though I've not been present for one of their discussions."

"Because that's none of your business."

He chuckled. "No, it isn't."

The bell rang for dinner, and he thought the conversation was over until she grabbed his hand. "Promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Will you visit Charles on your way to Japan?"

"I believe he may be home by then."

"If he's not – will you visit him?"

He turned back to her. There was something serious and distressed in her expression. "I will."

"You promise?"

Geoffrey bowed. "I will do everything in my power to make it happen."

With that, they joined the others for the meal.

* * *

The Christmas holiday arrived without incident. Geoffrey and Georgiana fluctuated between their parents, aunts and uncles, and their brothers and sisters. Everyone seemed to want, however good-intentioned, more of their time than usual. Fortunately everyone was also well-settled on their opinions of proposed Oriental voyage – for or against. Only Dr. Maddox and Grégoire refused to join the debate.

"My brother has always been good at swaying people," the doctor said to them.

"What does it say, then, if we had to sway him?" Geoffrey asked.

The doctor smiled, and scratched his head at that.

"My brother wants me to bless you," Grégoire told them. "In his defense, he did not say it that way, but he meant it that way. For all of his reason and logic, man will always fall back to superstition and faith in a potential crisis." He saw the look in their eyes. "Perhaps I did not mean to say crisis, but nonetheless he is concerned. He expressed a considerable concern for his granddaughter."

"I'm just to be chucked aside, then?" Geoffrey said.

"He didn't mean it that way," Georgie said. "Uncle Darcy dotes on your sisters and now he dotes on our daughter. Why is that a surprise?"

"I am only relieved I am not required to defend my sanity to every member of this family," Geoffrey replied.

"And my sanity?"

"That is not in question, one way or the other. I think their opinions are much decided." Geoffrey kissed his wife's hand.

* * *

By Christmas Eve, Patrick and Robert were moody and eager for presents, and not so eager for church. Alison was not old enough to know what lay ahead and was merely amused by playing with whatever she found in the Nursery. After the meal, she was put to bed and the Protestant arm of the family departed for church, and returned to find Caitlin sleeping in the drawing room with Patrick doing the same by leaning on her side, while Grégoire Bellamont finished prayers in the chapel. The night was to bed with everyone, though for some, it was not such an easy rest.

"They're really going," Darcy said, looking out the window as if his son was still a young boy who played in the snow and needed to be watched, when in fact he was down the hall, in bed with his wife. Fitzwilliam Darcy, grey-haired and wearing his bedclothes, did not cut a very imposing figure. He just looked worried, something he tried assiduously not to do in front of Geoffrey.

"Darcy," Elizabeth said, beckoning him to bed by patting the fabric, "though it might be wise to resign yourself to that fact now, you do still have a few months to fruitlessly try to persuade them otherwise. I do not recommend it." She added, "Brian and Her Highness will see to their safety."

He did join her, if reluctantly, stoking the fire once more before climbing under the heavy covers. "I thought perhaps they would rethink it with Georgiana's improved mind."

"If she improved on the basis of a promise, she would have every right to feel betrayed if it was revoked." She put her hand over his. Neither hand was as smooth or soft as it had been when they were married a quarter century before, but there was still a warmth to the touch. "I recall you dragging me in an uncomfortable coach through a war torn France without proper knowledge of the language."

"You wanted to go!"

"That is hardly the point. You are not without the desire for acts of bravado in pursuit of the happiness of your loved ones. In fact, I think you are known for it."

"We left Geoffrey with his nurse."

"We were gone a much shorter period of time. If you told me we were to leave for two years, I would have taken him. Remember how big he seemed at our return? As if we had missed something." She prodded him. "You cannot say you do not remember the feeling."

"I cannot." He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "You have caught me."

"As was my intention," she said, and they shared a goodnight kiss as the night passed from Christmas Eve to the dark, early hours of that magical Christmas day.

* * *

"Why are we here again?"

Charles Bingley the Third rolled his eyes. Frederick had a very good point: it was late, it was hot, and it was crowded. "It's a cultural experience."

"A papist experience."

"You wouldn't say that if Mr. Grégoire was here."

"He isn't. What is your point?"

They stood a good distance from the central square of St. Peters, far too distant to hear the pope deliver his Christmas sermon. They could barely see him, and had to be told on which balcony to look as he emerged, pointed hat and all to cheering crowds. They remained behind, not racing up to see the so-called Vicar of Christ, but to remain objective tourists. The entire service was confusing, a church in open air with thousands of often wailing, shouting, or singing people present. They left Midnight Mass before what they were fairly sure would be the Mass itself, and departed to a quieter section of town in search of a coach that would return them to the villa. Unable to find one, Charles Bingley and Frederick Maddox wandered the streets until they discovered a vendor that was open offering cold drinks to quench their horrible thirst. Most of the people in the shop seemed to be tourists as well, with a smattering of different European languages and some that were just plain unrecognizable.

"Mr. Bingley? Mr. Maddox?"

They both turned to see the approaching figure, a woman who was shouting in English, and upon seeing she had their attention, she blushed and curtseyed very properly.

"Lady Littlefield?" Frederick said. "What are you doing here?"

A tall, rather fat, and obviously English man many years her senior stepped forward, nearly blocking her from their sight. "I am Lord Littlefield. I understand you know my daughter?"

They bowed quickly. Charles was first to respond. "I am Charles Bingley, and this is my cousin, Frederick. Georgiana Bingley, now Mrs. Darcy, is my sister."

"My father is a professor at Cambridge. Sir Daniel Maddox," Frederick added. "Lady Littlefield dined at our house in Chesterton several times."

At first skeptical, the man relented. "Very well. You are doing your tour of the Continent, then?"

"Yes," they both responded.

"And you can't find a bloody carriage, either?"

"We cannot, Lord Littlefield."

"Hmph," he replied. "I suppose my daughter considers you both respectable English gentlemen, and that's more than I can say for the locals. We are seeing the sites as well. Shall we walk?"

They paid for their drinks and stepped out onto the streets, which were still somewhat navigable, if only by foot at the moment. A few shops were open despite the holy day, or kept the lights up in the front to display their wares.

"I'll give you a quid to engage His Lordship in intense conversation," Frederick whispered.

"A quid? You forget we're in Rome."

"Fine! A ducat or whatever you have it. Just go."

Charles rolled his eyes and turned to ask Lord Littlefield about the sites he had seen as the four of them walked. Frederick managed, after some maneuvering, to fall in step with Heather Littlefield.

"Mr. Maddox," she said, "I must ask of you a favor – is there news of Georgiana? She wasn't having visitors most of the fall, and all I received was a brief note of good wishes before I left."

"I hear she is doing quite well now," he said. "Uncle Bingley wrote me that he saw her recently, and she was much recovered. They are due to Derbyshire for Christmas, so I suppose I will hear about that in a month or so, depending on where I am. Or Charles certainly will. He's stationed himself in Venice."

"He's been abroad for quite some time now, hasn't he?"

"This summer, when he returns, will make it two years. I suppose not every wanted bachelor looks forward to facing the Ton and all their eligible daughters."

"Nonsense. I've danced with him many times."

"Dancing is different from facing an aggressive mother. Or father."

She covered her mouth with a very pretty laced glove to hide her smile. "And yourself?"

"As you see. I am touring. Also due back this summer. I think I will have had enough by then, but there is still much to do. I am seeing Greece next."

"To appreciate all that has come before you."

"Somehow that is to make a man out of me. I don't see how crumbling pillars and broken statues will make me a man, but legions of well-meaning parents who were subjected to the same thing can't be wrong, can they?" He heard her giggle behind her hand, and he smiled. "Though I am quite eager to see the Acropolis. And I have enjoyed the ancient parts of Rome. Have you seen the coliseum?"

"Not yet. We've just arrived."

"Utterly magnificent. I would be happy to see it again, if you need a guide."

"My father was going to depend on a local," she said. "He doesn't trust them, but he has to rely on their knowledge."

"I've seen it twice, actually," he said. "And I've practically memorized the guide's speech."

She laughed.

"You don't believe me?"

"No – something Georgiana said, a long time ago. Or maybe it was one of your cousins, about wishing they had your brains, to put them to good use or – I cannot finish the sentence."

"To put them to good use instead of drinking them away?"

Her face was now quite red. "Mr. Maddox!" she whispered harshly.

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating the finer things in life. Architecture. History. Wine. They all go together very well, I find. Or they did in college. My father only had to look at me – and he's blind – and I knew he was telling me to curb myself."

"Your father cannot be so cruel. I cannot imagine it."

"I did not say he was cruel. He is against drinking and gambling because it nearly ruined his brother and by relation, his own life. He wants me to be a better man. I am not much of a drunk or a cad if I find worth in that."

"No," she said. "I would say you are neither."

He could not resist a smile.

...Next Chapter - Chapter 11

* * *


	11. The Prince

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 11 – The Prince

"Papa," Georgie said to her father, "I understand your concerns, but you must understand something of it."

Charles Bingley II sat beside his eldest daughter on Christmas morning, watching Alison try to pull the toy horse along the ground, only to be hampered when its tiny wooden wheels would not cooperate with the rug. The make was unique, and it stood up to even Alison's enthusiastic battering. It was the gift from her absent godfather. "I comprehend it; that does mean I think it's sensible."

"Because of what? The dangers of sea? Exposure to illness? Geoffrey already spoke to you about that."

"Geoffrey is a man in love and he would walk off a cliff if you asked it of him," he said. "And I know you'll take every precaution, but some things are beyond your control. I am saddened by the idea of seeing my daughter and granddaughter disappearing for two years to chase a wild ghost."

"We have no proof that he's dead."

"We have no proof that he isn't, aside from his refusal to respond to any messages for nearly ten years." He looked down at her. He was happy to see her well, and back to her stubborn self, even if at the moment it wasn't doing him much good. "I know Mugen was – and is – important to you, but Japan is much larger than you think, even if he is alive. He may be out of reach entirely, and as much as I have a respect for the man for all of the trouble he may have gotten me out of when I was abroad, I will not stand to see you disappointed again, and I will not forgive him for doing so."

"Papa, there will be disappointments in my life," she said, pausing only to set aright the toy before Alison began to cry. "I've had them and I'll have more. If Mugen is dead and I discover that in the Orient, I will be disappointed in him, but I will have closure. And if not..."

Bingley sighed. "I know I cannot talk you out of it."

"Then you are very wise, Papa."

"I will nonetheless make the attempt. I am allowed to hope in lost causes too, am I not?"

His daughter responded by kissing him on the cheek.

* * *

1829 arrived with a snowstorm that kept the guests from leaving, though none of them were in a rush with the pretty view out the window the next morning. It took days for the roads to be cleared as far as Lambton, and the three Darcy sisters decided to spend the time preparing for their niece's second birthday. Cassandra loved to knit and sew the decorations, and Sarah enjoyed instructing her, even though all of her knowledge came only from a book. Only Anne, the oldest, was a bit melancholy when Geoffrey found her in the kitchen, overseeing the design of the cake. They just needed fresh ingredients from Lambton, and would hopefully have them in time for the actual day.

"I think she would eat it if it was made with chalk instead of flour," he said to his sister, but that did not improve her countenance. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

He lifted his coffee cup and took a long sip, his gaze unrelenting.

"Are you really going to be gone for so long?" she asked.

"Just about. Perhaps a few months shorter, if something comes up along the way. But there will be other birthdays."

She gave him a look. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

She looked down. "Geoffrey ... would you be terribly upset to miss my wedding?"

He had trouble not dropping the fine china right there. "_What?_"

"My metaphorical wedding. Just because Papa never speaks of it doesn't mean it won't happen. I am a very accomplished lady, am I not? With a suitable personality and a large inheritance?"

She _was_ twenty, and had been out for several years. Somehow he had missed it, and she would always be his baby sister, even if he had a baby of his own. He straightened himself. "I would be saddened to miss it, but if you fall in love, certainly a single person's attendance at the ceremony should not hold you back, unless it is the groom himself. And preferably the consenting father."

"But if you hear – you will hurry home?"

"If I hear in Japan? Yes, I will do my very best, and be at least three months late."

"Geoffrey!"

He just grinned. "At least then I might be home in time for Sarah's nuptials."

"Now you're making it worse!"

"Dare you condemn your sister to spinsterhood?"

Finally she relented. "I thought marriage would mature you."

"And yet I've somehow maintained my boyish charm."

She responded by flicking flour at him.

* * *

To Alison Darcy's somewhat unknowing delight, a few days later she was showered again with presents and attention, and expressed her excitement by going through all of the words she knew and a few she seemed to have made up. When she tired of her presents and the bigger people, she fell asleep in her great-grandfather's lap before being carried off to bed.

With the roads open again, the many guests of Pemberley began to depart to their respective homes and settle in for the winter. It was rough in Lancashire, more than the Darcys were used to. Fortunately they had guests, as Brian and Nadezhda had a grueling schedule of tutoring. Georgiana's Japanese was far from perfect, but Geoffrey was only beginning to get a handle on the basics of the language, so different from his own, and so quickly pronounced as if there was no space between words. Sometimes he lamented that Alison was picking words up faster than he was.

"What is the meaning of that Zen Garden?" Geoffrey asked Brian, who was trying to work disassembled pieces of a pistol into the inside of a wooden cane. The room faced the courtyard, where the sand garden was coated in fresh snow. Somewhere outside, Georgie and Nadezhda were sparring, because there wasn't room for them in the house.

"Say it in Japanese."

"I wouldn't understand your answer."

Brian did not stop his work, and reached into the tool bag to remove something else. "It's a Japanese rock garden. The rocks represent the island and the sand the waves. It's a meditative device." He screwed the top of the cane back on and shook it. "Still rattles." Brian opened it up and removed the pistol parts, spreading them out on a cloth before Geoffrey. "Assemble them."

"Again?"

"I want you to do this in your sleep."

"My wife might take offense to that."

Brian chuckled. Geoffrey went about his work, screwing the pieces back into place. He was also taught how to make crude bullets with a casting iron, which they disassembled and hopefully would pass as very ugly jewelry. The metal they would have to bring in bricks to be melted down on-site if so required, but that would pass customs easily enough.

Assembled, Geoffrey immediately turned to taking the pistol apart again. "What about a rifle? I don't think I'll need one."

"If you have to kill an enemy, distance is your only friend. You freak when they're too close."

"I don't mean to."

Brian was sympathetic. "I wish I could walk like a normal person, but that was the price I paid for betraying my brother."

"Does it hurt? It looks as though it does."

"Sometimes."

They fell into a silence as they both worked at their projects until a well-cloaked Princess Nadezhda burst in the door, followed by a soaked Georgie. "Where is Alison?" was the first question out of the latter's mouth, in Japanese.

"Down for a nap," Geoffrey replied.

"Good. She was cranky yesterday, wasn't she?"

"She wanted to play in the snow, but we wouldn't let her."

"One does not die of a cold," Nadezhda said quite seriously, which earned her a look from the Darcys.

* * *

When the burden of winter began to ease, the Maddoxes departed for a brief while, having business in Town. Geoffrey practiced his shooting, and worked on some estate matters of his own, but otherwise it was just the three of them – and at night, just the two of them, when Georgie didn't just collapse into bed exhausted. On several occasions he managed to convince her not to rise with the sun to do whatever it was she did in the woods, and stay with him in their warm bed. She did not put up too much of a fight. "If I have to drink foul tea every day, I ought to be rewarded for it."

"You get to go to Japan."

"That was not what I meant."

He laughed and kissed her.

Geoffrey was still dozing one morning when he noticed Georgie enter the room, clothed in a white kimono. She must have gotten up at some point. "The mail's come."

"So early?"

"It's yesterday's, so technically I believe it is late." She sat down on the bed next to him. She was only carrying one letter, already opened. "It's from Heather."

"Lady Littlefield? How is she?"

"In Rome. And ... being courted."

"Oh," he said, rubbing the small of her back. "Good for her."

"By Frederick Maddox."

His hand stopped. "You're serious?"

"Heather doesn't have it in her to lie." Georgie turned the letter over to the other side. "She sounds ecstatic."

"A formal courtship?"

"She's there with her father, and he would never allow anything less. I wonder if Aunt and Uncle Maddox know."

"Knowing Frederick," he said, "probably not." He resumed rubbing her back, which always seemed to be sore. After this morning, it probably was. "Lady Littlefield is a sensible woman. And cynical enough not to trust Frederick at face value – you've seen to that. You shouldn't worry for her."

"I just don't know why he would do this."

He grinned. "For all of the reasons a man usually courts a woman, I suppose. Perhaps bachelorhood doesn't suit him anymore."

"He's younger than us!"

He shielded the morning light from his eyes with his other hand. She had pulled the drapes open. "I would hypothesize that Frederick has always understood that he needs a guiding hand. When George scolded him for drinking and gambling, he never really fought back. He didn't stop, but he did little to counter the arguments when he could have – and he could have. He's a great wit." He added, "I suppose he fears his father's legacy."

"Uncle Maddox has perfect manner – _Oh_." It dawned on her that their couch of a king was perhaps not the best of role models, seeing as how he was a national laughingstock and had been most of his life. "Is that why he keeps himself so thin?"

"Perhaps," he said. Frederick, in a strange imitation of his adoptive father, was thin as a rake. He was shorter, his face was rounder, and he had a different complexion entirely, but he was very thin. "Don't tell Dr. Maddox."

"Heather already asked me not to. She said Frederick would do it if he wanted to. He hasn't proposed – they're just courting. But it usually leads to a proposal, does it not?"

He shrugged. "Our courtship was limited to a rushed conversation I barely remember, so I can't say much on the subject." Geoffrey sat up. "You needn't worry about it. No doubt you've bad-mouthed Frederick in front of Heather Littlefield enough times that she knows at least half his faults, and surely Frederick has realized that if he disappoints your best friend, you'll lop off a limb when he returns to England."

"If you put it _that_ way." She set the letter aside, and settled into his waiting embrace.

* * *

At the first signs of spring, Geoffrey traveled to Pemberley, and then with his father to London to make sure all of his papers – including his will – were in order. His father did it without comment, but was of serious enough affair to give Geoffrey a feeling in the pit of his stomach as he signed his own will and testament, specifying what would be provided for Georgiana if she survived the trip and he did not, or what would be put away for Alison should neither of them survive. He listed his mother and father as her guardians just to clear away the legalities that could come along, but his hand was shaking when he wrote their names. This was _his_ _daughter_, and yet it was a very real possibility that, normally too terrible to contemplate, was now literally on the table before him.

To his surprise, when they left the office, his father put a hand on his shoulder and said, "It was not any easier for me."

That night at the townhouse, Mr. Maddox and Her Highness were guests, bringing with them not one but two pistols and a rifle all hidden in different ornamental items. The wood of the rifle was turned into another walking stick, with all the metal bits removed and used in some sort of metal toy that had some ribbons attached to it. "Geoffrey will possibly be the best-armed person in the Orient," Brian said, mainly to Darcy, who nodded in vague approval. "He shouldn't have to use any of it, of course."

"Of course," Darcy replied.

Before they set off the next day for the north, Darcy read the mail, and one letter he felt compelled to mention as they climbed into the carriage. "It seems Master Charles is considering coming home at last."

"Really?"

"Yes. He's due sometime in April instead of July."

"I'll write him, and ask him to come before we leave," he said with some excitement. "Very happy news."

"Indeed," his father said. "Perhaps his conscience finally got to him."

"Perhaps," Geoffrey replied, wondering if someone else would have influenced him, and would also be returning shortly – in triumph or in despair at a failed suit.

* * *

"You can't be serious."

"I can be serious."

"History will disprove your statement."

Frederick shook his head and smiled. "There is a first time for everything."

Charles paced their shared villa in Rome. He hadn't intended to stay in Rome so long, but he wasn't about to abandon Frederick, who refused to leave. "I know she's of the appropriate age – "

"I will remind you that I am older than your sister when she married."

"But she was my sister! And women ..."

" ... have to bear children and therefore it's best to get a start when they're young and healthy, and have preferably wide hips?"

Charles spun around and pointed at him. "I'll tell Lady Littlefield you said that."

"And she'll know I said it in jest and think it's charming." He swallowed another glass of wine. "Honestly, Charles, do you think me incapable of emotional attachment? One of my fathers married the woman he loved despite his poverty and the other seems to have loved the institution so much he married twice." He let the servant refill his glass. "I think it would be three times now, but he cannot release himself from the second one."

"I'm trying to be serious!"

"Meanwhile, I am _being_ serious," Frederick said. "Heather is a beautiful, charming, and compassionate woman with a great deal of sense. And ..." he sighed, briefly losing his abilities at words, which he never did.

Charles folded his arms. "And?"

"... And I think I love her."

When Frederick Maddox arrived in Italy, Charles prepared himself for the worst. Frederick nearly drinking himself to death. Frederick being chased by various French maids with child. Frederick seducing a nun. He was not, however, prepared to deal with Frederick in love. "You heard that she was once engaged?"

"Oh yes. She told me the whole story, actually. Very interesting person, your sister. Seems to have dissuaded her previous suitor quite well. And yet, that has not put me off in the least. Is that not a testament to anything, Bingley?"

Charles sighed. "I suppose it is."

* * *

They were not late to the fireworks, which lit up the Tiber in celebration of some saint's day. Lord Littlefield, his man, and Heather were there, and the men shared drinks. The widower lord was not as suspicious as he was at first when Frederick went to noticeable lengths to prove himself an honorable man (and Charles went through honorable lengths to keep a straight face through some of the questioning), so Frederick and Heather were allowed their time alone on the balcony, with the others just inside, watching both the fireworks and the couple through glass.

"So," Frederick said, "do I meet your father's approval?"

"That you are cousin to an earl and son of a distinguished knight does help, but you do have that young, wicked grin about you."

"Which one? I have several wicked grins."

"The one I find quite handsome."

He chuckled. They weren't touching, or even facing each other, but they were only inches apart. "I am glad to have some pleasing attributes."

"Some."

"You would prefer me older? Or is there some other defect?"

"If there is I've not discovered it. Besides, Georgie replied to my letter."

"Was it a list of my faults?"

"She _numbered_ the list. Nonetheless she did not entirely discourage me." Her gloved hand moved closer to his. "Why exactly do you quarrel with her?"

"I cannot say exactly anything of Georgie, and I wouldn't say I quarrel. Men make sport of each other, and she has always included herself among our company, so it naturally happened. Besides, if I make fun of George, he'll take it too seriously, and if I make fun of Geoffrey, he might punch me. And Charles will just back down. There is no reason to be so serious when the action is unnecessary."

Heather giggled. "You are so unlike your father. And your mother."

"He seems to have mellowed with age, but yes." He swallowed. "Lady Littlefield, may I tell you something in the strictest confidence?"

Noting his tone, she said more seriously, "You may."

"It might impress your father considerably, but I will not use it." His hand was trembling. She put hers over his, which didn't succeed in making him less nervous. "I am not my father's son. In fact I am of no relation to either the earl of Maddox or the Bingleys. My father was merely attending my birth mother as a patient when she died of childbed fever."

"But you're Emily's twin!"

"In name and birth certificate only. I am two weeks older."

"May I ask who your mother was? Do you know?"

"Her name was Lilly Garrison, and to put it politely, she was a courtesan. When Dr. Maddox arrived, there was no hope for her."

"I'm sorry."

"I have no recollection of her."

"And your father? I suppose, your natural father."

"I've met him twice, both on cordial terms, though he can never acknowledge me as his son. He has done it with some of his daughters out of wedlock, but he could never do it with a son." He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "When I was conceived, he was only the Prince of Wales, not even Regent."

She withheld comment for a long time. Neither of them watched the fireworks; she looked down, and he looked at her face, lit up in greens, blues, and then red by the light.

"If I cannot have an earl's cousin, I suppose I could settle for a prince," she said, and squeezed his hand.

...Next Chapter - Sir Gawain, the Green Knight

* * *


	12. Sir Gawain, the Green Knight

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 12 - Sir Gawain, the Green Knight

After a brutal winter, Alison Darcy went from wanting to play in the snow to wanting to roll on the grass.

"All right – you take her," Geoffrey said, consumed with the Japanese conversation he was trying to have with Brian. Georgie curtseyed to her uncle, slung her sword over her shoulder, and took Alison's hand to lead her out. Gawain followed in their wake, ever the watchful hound.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said as they walked off the path, heading deeper into the woods. After a white and grey winter, it seemed impossibly green.

"Green, Mama!" Alison pointed to a bush.

"That's right. It's green." She wasn't in the mood for fighting today, even though that was what she was here to do. Instead she led her daughter to the clearing she had discovered her first month in Lancashire, after the wedding. Smooth grey stones lay scattered about, and even a bit of a floor. This had once been a church or a monastery. One of the nave's arches was still up, with a carved angel in the stone, but it was barely visible with all of the ivy grown over it.

"Rock!" Alison pointed.

"You can't point at everything, dear. But yes, it is a rock. It once was a church." She sat down on the platform and took her daughter into her lap. Alison only barely fit, and mainly because her legs were crossed. "Do you want to learn how to meditate? I don't think you'll like it, but it'll make you stronger. You just have to be ... very ... silent." She put her finger over Alison's lips. Her daughter did eventually quiet down, and might even have fallen off to sleep as Georgie counted her breath and the world became still.

Gawain barked, and had she been a dog, she might have barked along with him, because she knew something was wrong. She had to leave. She felt the snout and she jumped forward, carrying Alison and landing on the ground, her wooden shoes digging into the ground. She was seconds out of the way of the falling tree. "Gawain!"

But Gawain was busy getting out of the tree's way and he snarled. "Get offa me!" came the voice from the woods, followed by a whine.

"Gawain!" Georgiana put Alison down, drew her sword, and leapt onto the fallen tree, following it to the woodsman. She swung and cut the axe blade from its handle, but the damage was done. Gawain lay on the ground, whimpering on his side. She raised the blade to the woodsman's neck, pushing him against the nearest still-standing tree. "What did you do to my dog?"

"I – marm, I'm so sorry – he attacked me – "

"He attacked you because you tried to kill us."

"I swear; I didn't know yer were there, honest I didn't." He put his hands up. "I would have shouted, but I didn't think anyone was out here, honest. Look – " Shaking in terror, he undid his green sash of a belt and gestured to Gawain. "Let me help 'im, please marm."

She hesitated, then replaced her blade. The woodsman knelt beside Gawain, wrapping the sash around his neck.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Chopping trees for wood," he said. "Please, I didn't know anyone was out here. I didn't hear –"

"Gawain!" Alison cried, and ran to the hound, who raised his head for her. He had a gash on his neck, and it wasn't deep, but it was bloody.

"Marm, I am so – "

" – sorry, I know." She didn't have time for this. "I need to get him home. Will you carry him for us?"

"Yes, marm. Of course, marm."

Gawain whined as the woodsman picked him up, but he managed to carry him all the way back to the manor. "Mrs. Darcy!" the woodsman said. "I – I didn't – "

"Know it was me, yes." She was busy bracing herself for Geoffrey's reaction.

"Gawain!" Geoffrey rose from the tatami mat. "What happened?"

The woodsman apologized again for nearly killing his wife and child, and almost killing his dog, then they mercifully gave him a chance for retreat. Nadezhda knew how to sew up flesh, and the gash was closed before he bled any further.

"It'll be all right," Geoffrey said, letting his faithful hound rest on a pillow. He handed the green sash to the servant. "Have this washed immediately."

"Sir."

"And bring me the brandy from my study."

The servant disappeared, and Georgiana carried Alison off before she got too upset. When she returned, she said, "What are you doing?"

Geoffrey was letting Gawain lick out of a brandy snifter. "If you had a wound on your neck, wouldn't you like a drink?"

They carried Gawain into their bed that night, and fell asleep listening to the hound's breathing. Gawain did survive the night, and the next morning. He was tired, and in pain, but he trudged on, following his master around and sitting beside him during Brian's lessons. "There's a good boy," Geoffrey said, scratching behind his ears.

"Say it in Japanese," Brian commanded.

"He won't understand it if I do."

"Say it."

Geoffrey sighed. "_You – good – wolf_."

"_Dog_," Brian corrected. "Funny how I taught you 'wolf' first."

Still, Gawain was visibly slowed down. He wasn't a young dog, and the wound didn't help. He became a fussy eater, refusing his food even when Geoffrey held the plate up to his snout. "You love table scraps. C'mon, boy."

"He's hardly a boy anymore," Georgie said.

"I know." He had a sad smile. He didn't need to be told his hound was dying. The wound just helped nature along. "Good dog. Good dog. You're a good dog, Sir Gawain."

Gawain looked up at him, his black eyes pleading. Geoffrey put a hand on his head. "I know. It's all right."

The hound lowered his head and closed his eyes. Geoffrey and Georgiana sat there with him until he went still.

"Brave, brave Sir Gawain," Georgie said, and hugged her husband, who was biting back his tears.

* * *

They buried Gawain behind the house. Geoffrey refused aid and dug the grave himself, and Alison wailed as they put the dog's body in the ground. "Gawan!"

Georgie held her back. "There's nothing to do. He's sleeping now. He's resting after all the brave things he did."

They put up a wooden cross to mark his grave, and Geoffrey took the green sash and wrapped it around the cross. Georgie took their daughter away so he could have a moment of privacy with the dog who had been his childhood companion, his beloved pet, and had once saved his life. He couldn't bring himself to say any of the things a master said to a pet. He was a man – and he was a Darcy – and he had lost a friend. Silence was better.

Alison did not understand the change; she would wander off to the grave, waiting for him to dig his way out. Fortunately, something quickly arrived in their lives to distract them.

* * *

"It's from Frederick," Caroline Maddox said as she rejoined her family at the breakfast table. She opened the letter and read it quickly.

Dr. Maddox did not stop buttering his bread when he heard her gasp. "What's he done?"

"He's ... getting married. He's engaged."

This did cause him to pause. "Should we continue this conversation in private?"

"It's a respectable marriage," she said, to his obvious surprise. In all fairness, usually a young son abroad did not announce he was shortly to marry without a specific and pressing reason. "You remember Georgiana's friend, Lady Littlefield?"

"I thought she was friends with Georgie," Danny said.

"So?" his sister replied.

Danny Maddox, Junior, looked down at his plate. "I didn't know Fred liked Georgie's friends."

"_Apparently_ he does," Emily said.

"Children!" Caroline didn't need to shout. She never did.

Dr. Maddox's face was still impenetrable. "When are they to be married? And where?"

"Here, in a few weeks, if it is possible. He's ... been courting her for two months."

"With her father's permission?"

"She was with her father in Italy for Christmas, and they encountered each other in Rome ... he didn't want to write because he was afraid he would be tempting fate ... And her father has consented." She put down the letter. "He wrote this a month ago, surely. And if he means to marry in England – "

" – he should be home shortly," the doctor concluded.

"Charles is coming with him. He's to be groomsman."

"It's not fair!" Emily said. "He was born first, and now he gets to marry first! Do I ever get to do anything?"

"You still have time, if you intend to marry first," her father said. "Though I admit it is very little time, so you cannot be very picky."

"Daniel!" Caroline said, but he just smiled back at her. It was beginning to settle in. "Our son is getting married."

"So it seems."

"To a respectable woman – a lord's daughter – oh!"

Dr. Maddox turned in the general direction of his children and said, "Please give your mother some privacy to be hysterical. A child doesn't marry every day."

"_Daniel!_" she said, and they did leave – very quickly. Not soon enough to miss their father rise and embrace their mother, but quickly enough to miss her joyous sobbing.

* * *

"I apologize for having to ask," Charles Bingley (the second) said, "but is this serious?"

Chesterton was not far from Derbyshire, and upon receiving a letter from his son, Mr. Bingley leapt on a horse and rode all the way to be greeted by his hysterical sister. Only Dr. Maddox seemed remotely calm about it, and they found some peace in his study while Caroline went to pen more letters. "I believe it is very serious," the doctor said. "I, too, thought Frederick might be inclined to linger in bachelorhood, but maybe he knows what is good for him – a remarkable amount of insight for someone of his age."

"Did you know he was inclined towards Lady Littlefield?"

"Not in the slightest. He never said a bad word against her, but he never had an occasion to. He knows better than to slight women – in front of _me_, at least. What did Charles add?"

"He is as surprised as you are, and he was witness to their entire courtship." Bingley accepted the drink from the servant. "I have to admit that if it brings Charles home, I am grateful for that alone."

"Hopefully it is not the only good thing that will come of this marriage," the doctor said with a chuckle.

* * *

The Littlefields were too aristocratic a family to be married in the public eye, especially with their only daughter marrying an untitled son with only a minor fortune to inherit. Even though the families gathered in Town long before Frederick or Heather were set to arrive, the actual wedding would take place in the parish chapel where she had been baptized, in Essex. Or so they were informed. Heather only had two brothers, both much older than her, and she was an heiress of 60,000 pounds. Many of the Ton were speculative as to why she had not been married earlier, with a rumor that she had once been engaged to a French noble who had died quite tragically. Maybe she had been heartbroken? Still she was of a suitable age, and the Maddox family had its own noble roots, though it would be on the benefiting side of the marriage, at least in terms of sheer fortune.

When the Darcys arrived in Town, Elizabeth was informed by her sister that Caroline was fretting nearly too much to fully appreciate being the center of attention of the Ton after many years as otherwise.

"I do hope Frederick and Charles arrive soon," Jane said. "I think the poor doctor has more invitations than he can take."

"He's not Darcy," she replied.

"I heard that," Darcy said from the corner, but the women ignored him and went on to speculate about the details of the wedding, a degree that was enough to cause him to flee the room. He was in the hallway just in time for a very special arrival.

"Grampa!"

"My, you've gotten big," he said, his displeasure instantly dissipated as he picked up his granddaughter. "Fortunately not too big – yet."

His son and daughter-in-law entered. "Father."

"You're looking well. I suppose you knew about this?"

"Heather told me she was being courted, but I didn't expect her to actually _marry_ him," Georgie said. "Uncle Darcy."

"Your mother is in the drawing room."

"Thank you, Uncle." She curtseyed, took Alison back, and left them.

"So. You'll see Charles before you leave for the end of the world."

"It isn't flat, you know. We're not going to fall off if we go too far."

Darcy grumbled, "It just feels that way to us."

* * *

Frederick and Charles seemed surprised – and a little intimidated – at the fanfare they received upon their return. Frederick had a million errands to run (a special license included, of course, for popularity's sake) and Charles was the long-lost son, even if he always said where he was and had been gone less than two years.

Since no one had any way of knowing the exact date of arrival, Georgie wasn't there to see him arrive at the Bingley house, but she was there within the hour to hug and kiss her wayward brother. The real excitement for him, however, was his goddaughter.

"She has no idea who I am, does she?" he said as he held her.

"Charles!" she shouted.

Geoffrey shrugged. "We taught her your name on the way here."

He didn't seem entirely displeased. "You've gotten so big. And you can talk."

"Konny Chiwa!"

" – all though some of it's nonsense."

"Charles." Georgie rolled her eyes. "That's Japanese. Sort of. She meant hello."

He smiled. "Any language is fine."

* * *

"Before you say it, yes, we are serious."

Heather Littlefield graced her friend Georgie by letting her be one of the first callers on her very busy schedule upon returning from the Continent. As maids ran around her, and her mother fussed and sat with the seamstress, Heather was above it all – literally, on the tailor stand – basking in her own personal joyous glow.

"You've made me too trusting," Georgiana replied. "I think I might actually believe him when he says he loves you."

"He said that?"

"Last night, at dinner. And if you swoon, I refuse to catch you."

Heather rolled her eyes. "I thought you would soften in time."

"And I thought I'd taught you something about men," she replied. "At least I know where to find him if I need to hurt him."

"You won't," Heather assured her.

* * *

On his last day as a bachelor, Frederick Maddox was out. He was said to be off to pick up the license, but he had done that three days before.

"Frederick Maddox," he said, presenting his card to the royal attendant at Windsor. "I do not have an appointment."

His father – his natural one – did not live in the royal castle that had stood for centuries. It was under renovation, and though it was said to be close to completion, the monarch still resided in the cottages beyond the castle walls. His current staff of doctors feared he would never see his dream of a renovated Windsor, especially now that he was said to be ailing and could hardly get out of his bed, and not just because of his massive weight.

King George IV was not presentable in the kingly fashion, but he was out of bed, and a full ten feet away, sitting in a massive chair. He had a proper coat pulled over his gown, and a wig to cover his balding head. He squinted as Frederick bowed, and approached. "So ... so. We meet again. Have you a request of me? Are you in debt?"

"No, sir."

"Are you ill from drunkenness and debauchery?"

"No, sir."

"Have you a reputation that precedes you, and not in a fashion suitable to someone of your stature?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Good, then you've learned something I never did," the king said. "Now I am lost on reasons you could be here."

"I am to be married."

"Good G-d! She's not a Catholic, is she?"

He laughed. "No, sir. Though it wouldn't matter much if she was."

"I suppose not." The king chuckled. "And who is the woman of such a distinction to catch your bachelor eye?"

"Lady Heather Littlefield. She's been a friend of one of my cousins for many years, but it took me that long to see what was in front of me."

"'With years brings wisdom, and with age, understanding,'" the king said. "Tell me – is she truly a lady?"

"Of the highest regard. Though, that leads one to question why she chose me."

"You have your old man's sense of humor. G-d help me that it's the only thing you've inherited," his father said. "I suppose there would be some unwanted scandal if I gave you the family engagement ring for her, and I would like to avoid at least _one_ scandal in my lifetime. Still I must have some trinkets around that have caused all of my debts. When are you to be married?"

"I'm sorry, Father. Tomorrow."

"Hm, then I have a busy day today – or my ministers do. My collection is a bit ridiculous, even I will admit."

"I have a ring."

"Posh, she shouldn't have just the one! She's marrying a prince! Are you leaving the kingdom directly afterwards?"

"No. We've just returned, actually, from meeting each other in Italy."

"Good. Then I will send you something." The king seemed confused for a moment. He was pale, and shivered for no reason, and was obviously ailing. "You are here, then, because you know we might not otherwise see each other again?"

He hesitated. "The thought had occurred to me."

"Somebody taught you wisdom. Must have been the good doctor." Then, to Frederick and the servants' surprise, he stood, if leaning heavily on a cane, and walked over to one of the dressers. The servants opened the heavy drawer for him, and he went through it for what seemed like a long while before finding something and slowly turning back to Frederick. He was breathing heavy from the exertion of standing. "Obviously it is not politically wise for you to wear it in mixed company," he said, and pressed something into Frederick's palm.

Upon closer inspection, Frederick found it was a gold ring, with a very small symbol of the royal arms of the House of Hanover. "I don't know what to say."

"Upon receiving a gift, it is usually customary to thank the giver."

He smiled. "Thank you, Father."

His father embraced him, which was not an easy thing, as one person was so large and one person so small in girth, even if they were the same height. "Good luck, Son. Perhaps you'll have more as a commoner. We kings have never been very lucky in marriage."

He stammered a response. "I do hope so."

* * *

The morning of the wedding, the Maddox family was hosted near the chapel, which was not terribly far from Town, but Frederick had to be there earlier than the other guests. He could certainly charm people, and managed to navigate the meeting of his parents and his future in-laws with considerable ease. Sir Daniel Maddox could not be slighted (at least in front of him) because he was a knight and an earl's cousin, but Lady Maddox was of no particular importance in terms of heritage. Nonetheless, Caroline told her husband in the quiet hours before they went to sleep, they were not as brutal when they thought she was out of earshot as they could have been, and even noted how well he seemed to get around for a blind man. He was used to comments like this, meant to be in grudging respect but having the opposite effect, and he was unaffected by them. His son was happy, and that was all he cared about.

"Any advice for me?" Frederick said as they readied to leave for the church. When his father did not answer, he turned and saw his father wiping his glasses. Usually Dr. Maddox hid from the world his unsettling eyes, unable to focus on anything and reddened in hue by whatever affliction it was that made him blind and would do the same to his younger son, from the world. "Father?"

His father reached out and Frederick helped him put a hand on his shoulder. Even face-to-face, Dr. Maddox still hung his head down for some reason. "I wish I could see you today."

"Father, don't do this to me," he said, only half-joking.

Dr. Maddox just smiled. "I was going to say, in terms of advice, that you should try not to emulate your father, but it is said he was once very devoted to Mrs. Fitzherbert, and might have remained so had she not been Catholic and their marriage been possible. But then, I suppose, I would not have you, so I have the law to be thankful for." He chuckled. "Strange how this family came to be."

"_You're_ my father," Frederick said.

"Then ... try to do as I would do, except perhaps not to let her push you around so much. Unless you actually need pushing because you don't know where something is."

"If she asks me where I get my jokes, I intend to blame you."

His father just nodded. "As is your right."

* * *

In 1829, before the sight of G-d, the bishop, and their large families, Mr. Frederick Maddox and Lady Heather Littlefield were married. Despite Geoffrey's prediction, Georgie was smiling and even a bit teary during the key parts of it, as her best friend was married to her cousin. Yes, Frederick was Frederick, but he talked more like a cad than he was, even if he wouldn't admit that much. And disappointing his wife would never be an option, so long as Georgiana Darcy was alive. Frederick, understandably, was consumed by the ceremony and never looked over his shoulder to see them. He was only partially facing them when he turned to place the ring on Heather's finger, and Geoffrey noticed that he was wearing a signet ring of his own that must have been acquired abroad, because Geoffrey had never seen it before.

For the first time in what seemed like a long time, and in what would likely be another few years, the entire family (sans George Wickham, who was studying in Paris, and the Franklins, who were in Vienna) that they had grown up with stood together as one in the celebration. If another event required his attention, Geoffrey hoped it secretly would not be any sooner.

He and Georgie intended to be elsewhere.

...Next Chapter - Last Call Before the Dawn

* * *

_This chapter, somewhat obviously, has imagery heavily derived from the ending of the medieval epic poem "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight." It seemed the only fitting way to say goodbye to Gawain._

* * *


	13. Last Call Before the Dawn

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 13 - Last Call Before the Dawn

With as much drama as he could muster (which was a lot), Brian Maddox unveiled the final piece of his grand plan to give the Darcys as much access to Japan as possible. Geoffrey raised an eyebrow in response when all that was under the curtain was a single book – a large one, but a book nonetheless.

"It's a medical book," Brian said. "It's in English, but I've been writing in the Japanese characters as best I can." The book was mainly anatomical, with detailed drawings and labels. "Western medicine – or 'Dutch Learning' as they call it, since most of the books are in Dutch – is something the physicians there are desperate for. All they have is Chinese medicine, and our understanding of anatomy is far superior to theirs." He closed the book and handed it to Geoffrey. "My brother will talk you through it, and you will present it as a gift to the shogun."

More that Geoffrey had to learn – and quickly. Their departure date was approaching, if they intended to catch the ship before it left for Holland. They closed up Lancashire, and returned briefly to Pemberley, then left for London, to settle all their affairs, legal and otherwise. To their surprise, they received a call from Frederick and Lady Heather, who otherwise had been gone from the social scene. Heather was ecstatic and Frederick seemed to be in a dreamy daze, but they wanted to say goodbye and to wish them luck.

"Have a drink there on me," Frederick said.

"They make their wine out of rice."

"Rice? That must taste terrible."

Geoffrey shrugged. "I'll manage."

"I never understood why you put up with her," his cousin said. "I suppose it's because you're in love. With a madwoman, but all the same."

"Was that as close as you'll ever get to complimenting my wife?"

"Probably."

"I'll take it."

Meanwhile, Heather hugged Georgie as tightly as she could. "I never imagined this."

"That I would go to Japan?"

"I know you well enough that I could imagine that. I mean that we're cousins!"

Georgie laughed. "Yes, that is a bit of a surprise."

Their items were complicated to pack. They required less clothing than usual, no jewelry, and many luxury items to be gifted as bribes if money was not available. They provided their family with a hopeful itinerary of where the ship would stop – Holland, Capetown, India, Hong Kong – so there would be some correspondence, even if it was mainly to report back to England on their health and safety. They barely had time for a moment alone, with the steady stream of visitors and the last-minute preparations. Mr. Bennet said his goodbyes while they were still in Derbyshire, but the rest of Pemberley descended on Town to the point where Geoffrey had to note that he rarely saw their daughter anymore, as passed around as she was. He once even found her hiding in the courtyard.

"Give her some peace," Georgie said. Her free time was consumed by training, though she was still polishing her Japanese.

"Then you ought to go in and host your mother."

"In this outfit?" she said, to which he could only shrug.

When it came down to their last day in England, there was a farewell party, with many not-so-subtle reminders of how their parents and siblings would dread their departure in a last-ditch effort to convince them to stay. It was hopeless, but Geoffrey found it endearing, and nothing could put Georgie off her focus on the trip.

"You have to bring her back," Charles III said as he held his goddaughter, "so I can continue spoiling her." He'd already bought her a new toy for the trip.

"At least you acknowledge you have a problem," Georgie said.

With the torrent of cousins, siblings, aunts, uncles, and very concerned parents, both sides were equally exhausted when they retired that night. Alison was kept up by the excitement for only so long before falling asleep in her grandfather Darcy's arms. By the time Geoffrey climbed into bed with his wife it was only hours from when they would be called to rise again, and yet they were not yet inclined to sleep.

"Perhaps our last night in a real bed."

"He wasn't serious, was he? About sleeping on mats on the floor?" Geoffrey begged, and she just giggled in response. "Oh G-d, he was. If I wasn't so utterly exhausted ..."

But she put her arms around him, and that shut him up, at least for the few hours until dawn.

* * *

For the last time, Mr. Reynolds dressed his master. All of the clothing was picked; he would not be accompanying him. "Good luck, sir."

"Thank you, Reynolds." He smiled. "I don't know how I'll get by without you. Thankfully I'm told they don't have cravats in the Orient."

"You have a caller, sir."

"At this hour?"

Mr. Reynolds just nodded, and Geoffrey said his goodbyes to his faithful servant, and walked down the stairs. In the hallway, Grégoire Bellamont-Darcy was waiting. He'd not seen him since Christmas. Since then, Grégoire had grown a beard, making him look even more outlandish than usual. "Uncle Grégoire." His uncle had sent a letter wishing them well; the visit was not expected.

"Geoffrey." They embraced. His uncle was shorter than he was. "I wanted to see – that you were well. And Georgiana was well."

"I am. We are," he said. "Quite well."

"Good. Good."

He seemed nervous. Geoffrey couldn't place why. "Are you all right, Uncle?"

"I am just eager to see the family well again," he said. "I was very concerned – after the baby's death."

The sheer mention of that which had remained unspoken for months now was startling, but not as devastating as Geoffrey expected it to be. "You were the first person to know, weren't you? You believed Georgie when she said something was wrong."

"Yes."

"You have a gift, Uncle Grégoire."

"It's not always a gift, Nephew."

He could have no proper response to that. Fortunately Georgie appeared, carrying their still-sleeping daughter, and he did not have to, because Grégoire was eager to greet his niece.

They said goodbye to Geoffrey's sisters, as only their parents would be accompanying them to the docks. Everything was in order, as it always was when a Darcy was in charge. The Bingleys were there, to kiss their daughter and granddaughter goodbye, even if Alison didn't appreciate being woken or passed around. There was a stillness to it all. Maybe the early morning brought that about, or it was just a long-awaited moment that now arrived, needed little else to add to it.

"We forgot to find out if you get seasick," was the last thing Georgie said on land, as they made their way down the plank to the ship that would take them to Holland, just in time to catch the East India Company's ship to Japan.

"Only one way to find out now," he said with a reassuring smile. Even on the bow of the ship, they were close enough to say their many tearful goodbyes.

"Take care of her," Uncle Bingley said to him. "Both of them."

"Papa!"

"Geoffrey," his mother said, "I would say not to do anything your father wouldn't do, but that would prevent you from moving or speaking this entire trip."

"Or even going on it," his father said, but he did manage an encouraging smile and reached out to shake his son's hand. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Father."

"Alison, wave to your grandparents," Georgie said, and Alison eventually did so, to everyone's delight.

Nadezhda boarded, followed by Brian. Geoffrey couldn't hear it, but he could _see_ his father say to Brian, "Bring them back, or don't come back at all."

Brian bowed in agreement and boarded. The morning mist had cleared and the sun was up just high enough that they could still see their family waving at them as the boat pulled away, until they became specks in the distance, and finally disappeared.

* * *

Geoffrey and Georgiana didn't speak Dutch, but they did speak French, so they were not helpless in Holland, for the few hours they were there. Brian and Nadezhda were fluent, and did all of the talking, and were happy to be reunited with the foreign company they did so much business with. Brian seemed to know everyone, and sped up the process of introductions. The crew didn't seem too unhappy that not one but two women would be aboard, even if they were married, much to Geoffrey's open dismay and therefore Georgiana's amusement. They barely had time to load their trunks before the ship set sail, and the three Darcys were alone in their cabin.

"So." Geoffrey looked at his wife, who was sitting on a box and helping her daughter untangle the string to her pull horse. "Here we are."

"You look a little green."

He opened the porthole, and shut it again. "Be glad it opens." He was bracing himself with one hand against the wall. "I will be fine." The ship lurched. "Maybe not _fine, _but I will manage."

She kissed him. "My brave husband."

Hoping the fresh air would help him a little, he took her up to the deck. Once they were out on the water and sailing, the crew was less active, and the massive ship had room to rest. It did not help – the motion of the boat was what bothered him, not the stench of the sailors and the fish.

Brian appeared from behind. "Sit down. Did Jorgi-chan ever teach you to meditate?"

"I did," Georgie said as Alison ran to greet Nadezhda. "He just doesn't practice."

"Then have a seat, and I'll give you some practice – I hear listening to me is boring enough," Brian said, removing his long sword and setting it beside him on the bow. "I'll tell you how this trip came to be. Through my sheer act of bravery – "

"You were too drunk to think correctly," Nadezhda said.

"Nady, you're ruining it."

"We'll listen anyway," Georgie said, and they were seated on a mat, with Geoffrey leaning against one of the poles to steady himself, as Brian began to speak of Nagasaki, many years ago, on one of the trips he had taken for the business with Nadezhda.

* * *

"Oh no!" Nadezhda said as they emerged from the teahouse. "It's dark!"

It was. The well-swept streets of Nagasaki were darkened, lit by candles hidden in paper lamps strung up along the posts of closed shops. There was still activity in the streets, but it was mainly teahouse patrons and patrolling guards.

"So it is," Brian said, his voice slurred, but before he could grab hold of his swords at the sight of an approaching guard on patrol he was pulled into an alley by his wife. "I could've taken him."

"You're not taking anybody," she said. "We're unescorted foreigners on land after dark. Don't you remember what that means, or are you that drunk?"

"It means another bribe. So what?" He smiled happily at her. "You liked the singer, so we stayed, even through that terrible music." He took her hand. "Where is my daring princess, who walked across Russia and down Japan?"

"Barely carrying her cup-shot husband home, where he should have been a long time ago."

His smile grew more dreamy. "There she is. I'd thought I lost her. And I even - " He stopped to listen to a woman's scream. The guard was long gone now, and didn't come running. They would have heard that. They would have heard shouting. "That was outside."

"I know."

"Someone – someone's bein' attacked." He stood back up. "Will you hold it against me if I violate some more laws on the way back to Dejima?"

"Not in this case," she said, and they stepped back out onto the street. All appeared as normal. "Over there. Around the corner." If anyone else had heard it, they were ignoring it. There was a very loud party still going on at the teahouse, so maybe they hadn't.

Brian drew his sword upon seeing the man. He had no option not to – his opponent had his own sword and there could only be one expectation. Upon seeing a foreigner face, however, the attacker was surprised enough to be cut down before he could respond. Brian didn't hesitate – he had learned not to years before. The man fell with a gasp, revealing the woman behind him. Her beautiful kimono was torn and she pulled it shut as Nadezhda approached her and bowed. "We're not here to harm you. Please, let us take you somewhere."

"I can't be seen with you – I can't be seen here – "

"Nady," Brian interrupted, and gestured to the rooftop above the alley. "Four," he whispered. This was not a simple sexual assault. Someone was out to kill this woman. She was exquisitely dressed, but not like a geisha, or any other sort of professional entertainer. She had to be somebody important – probably a very rich man's wife.

The fallen man was dressed normally; the others were in black, and more obviously ninja. The first one came down on Nadezhda, but she was ready. She had her short sword buried in her complex obi, but she was good at retrieving it and slashed his throat. Brian was on the next man with a howl. He was not an amazingly skilled samurai, but he was frighteningly foreign, and had that element of surprise going for him and going for Nadezhda, and together, they took down the other men, who fell at the feet of the horrified woman.

"So sorry," Brian bowed, "but we have to get you out of here. And _we _have to get out of here."

The woman broke down in Nadezhda's arms, and they took her to the nearest inn. There, when she had removed her multiple layers, they saw that she was very pregnant, and holding her hands over her stomach. Her name, it seemed, was Minoko, and she was in labor. Nadezhda calmly called for a maid, and a few hours later, there was a beautiful baby boy in addition to the three of them, held in Brian's arms. His kimono was already stained with blood from the fight, so he didn't mind in the least.

* * *

"Was the husband the father?"

"Interestingly, he was, but he had a fight with her, and she got some bad advice to leave the palace before revealing her pregnancy. The same counselor who gave her the advice then conspired to kill her upon realizing his mistake," Brian said.

"Palace?"

"Yes," Nadezhda continued. "She was one of the shogun's consorts. One of hundreds, we were told. Tokugawa Ienari is a degenerate, but he was very grateful to have his wife and son back."

"Even if it took foreigners to retrieve her," Brian said. "Maybe it was because he was drunk himself when he received us, but he was _very_ understanding of our breaking of the laws disciplining behavior in Nagasaki after dark. He didn't take my swords, which by all local sensibilities he should have done. Instead he granted me use of his family _Mon_." He pointed to the white emblem in the black cloth on each shoulder of his kimono. "If he's not dead from drinking himself to death, he might even remember us. If he doesn't, his staff will, as the incident was recorded. And if we're lucky, he'll grant you ambassador status, enabling you to stay in Japan for a short while." He shrugged. "Lady Luck and I haven't always gotten along, but she seems to come through in the end."

"Are you so sure?" Geoffrey said, gesturing to the angry sailors who were approaching them, carrying a barrel and yelling in Dutch.

Brian rose to greet the captain, who yelled at him in a steady stream of what was unintelligible to Geoffrey or Georgiana, not even allowing him to speak in response before commanding his men to overturn the barrel.

Danny Maddox tumbled out.

"Danny!" was their collective shout as Daniel Maddox the younger scrambled to his feet. He was wearing his training uniform and carrying a sword and a small bag.

Brian managed to get the captain to leave them alone to resolve this, and not toss him overboard immediately. Danny did not have a spare moment before Nadezhda screamed, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Going to Japan," he replied. "I told my parents."

"I didn't hear anything about it," Brian said.

"I told them in letter form. And I told Emily in person." He backed away, but found no welcome arms from his cousin Georgie, even though Alison was excited enough to see him and tugged on his baggy skirt-like pants. "They said I could travel if I wanted to."

"To _the Orient?_"

"Father said I can go anywhere I want before I go blind," he said. "That might have not been the exact phrase, but he got to do what he wanted to do, which was see Emily go out."

Geoffrey interrupted, "I'm sure if you had a plan in mind, he would have been interested in hearing it, no matter what he might have said in passing."

"It wasn't in passing. He meant it. My father means everything he says."

"And he'll mean everything he says when he gets a hold of you," Brian shouted, "when you're done swimming back to England!"

"You can't make me go!"

Danny was younger, but Brian was more experienced and more importantly, he was angrier when he picked Danny up by his collar and dragged him to the edge. "I can very well make you go, young man!"

"You can push me around if you want to," he said, "but I won't be persuaded. My peers have gone to the Continent or to college. A few have even gone to India or America. I am going to Japan. It was my decision and I made it with my allowance money, and I'm of a legal age where no one can stop me. So short of beating me senseless and tossing me overboard, you are not getting me off this boat. And I will remind you that I cannot swim."

Brian paused, and then released his nephew, backing away as Danny dropped to the ground again, and straightened his glasses. Defeated, Brian turned to his wife.

Georgie decided to intercede. "Is this really what you want to do?"

"Would I be standing here, dressed like this, if it was anything otherwise?" He put his sword into his belt. "I want to be a samurai."

Brian Maddox, usually unmovable, looked openly alarmed at this. "It's another thing I'll be to blame for?"

"It seems so," Geoffrey said.

"If it was my father, you would say it was all right," Danny said to Brian. "You would have granted his every wish."

"But you're not my brother or my son. You're my nephew, and I've learned enough about interceding in other people's children's affairs."

"Often too late," Nadezhda said. "I suppose we never really learned."

Brian looked at his wife, then at Danny, then back at the others, and grumbled. "You get off at the first stop for supplies and sail home."

"You can't make me."

"I very well can. Even if I do have to knock you around a little."

Danny Maddox straightened up and said, "You don't have it in you to do that. You're my uncle."

Brian turned away, and said nothing.

After an uncomfortable silence, Geoffrey turned to Danny. "Well, we could use a babysitter."

Next Chapter - Journey to the End of the World

* * *

* * *


	14. Journey to the End of the World

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

I've put up a Flickr set of photos and artwork to illustrate Japanese life at this time and some of the locations mentioned. Check it out through the link on my forums, or here:

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 at symbol N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 14 - Journey to the End of the World

_What I have suffered! You ought to take one moment to consider my nerves over the past weeks and months, or however long it takes this letter to arrive in your hands. Your sister is in tears, Frederick is worried, and your father is in despair. I beg you to consider the destruction you have wrought on your own family – _

"It goes on like that for a while," Danny said with a grimace as he handed the letter to his uncle.

Another letter was waiting for them in Capetown, this one from his father (in his steward's handwriting). The letter was mailed directly while they stopped briefly in Holland, so it arrived in Africa ahead of them.

_Dear Son,_

_No doubt you are in some despair over your mother's letter, which I did not have read to me but have no doubt of its contents. While her sentiments for her lost son are not false, they are a bit bombastic. _

_I have thought long and hard about how to form a persuasive argument as to why you should immediately return and abandon your apparent pilgrimage, but after much meditation I have found little to offer aside from my normal concerns for your safety. There comes a time for a man to decide his own path, and hopefully he makes it wisely, and with concern to his loved ones, which I believe you did by explaining yourself in letter form before departing. Not every man makes good decisions, and certainly no one does it all the time (myself and all present company upon penning this letter included), but I am out of my element in weighing yours. I will instead offer you two comments of my own._

_Comment the first: There is nothing so terrible as taking a life, no matter how unavoidable or necessary it was. As someone who has killed, unintentionally, many a patient, I can testify to that. Do not do anything that would haunt you in the dark hours of the night. _

_Comment the second: Despite or in sake of your actions, I will always love and respect you, as a man as well as my son, and I look forward to the day when you choose to return, and can only hope it will be soon. _

_Your Loving Father,_

_Dr. Daniel Maddox_

"Wow," Brian said. "He's more level-headed than I've been about this. But that's my little brother for you."

Geoffrey smiled, but offered no comment. He was enjoying being on solid ground again after almost two months at sea, sipping wine at the colony dining facilities and watching Alison play with the other children, mostly local Brits who were the children of colonists. Even after they got to know the Dutch crew of their vessel, she still had limited allowances of freedom. There were no green fields on the ship, no matter how interesting she found it and how much she liked trying to imitate the Dutch sailors, unaware of what she was saying. To her Brian and Nadezhda spoke exclusively Japanese, and as she strung words together in an attempt to form fragments of a sentence, they were more often in the Oriental language than not.

The locals were curious about their trip, but Geoffrey was more interested in resting than making conversation for the day it would take to restock the ship. While he was not seasick in the traditional sense, the ceaseless rocking upset his head, leaving him dizzy and often cranky as a result. Danny Maddox did prove an invaluable resource so Georgie could spend more time in their cabin, tending to her husband. There were certainly moments – conjugal or otherwise – when she could make the trip worthwhile.

The Darcys received their own letters in Capetown, apparently mailed before their departure from England to ensure the missives' arrival on time. Both their parents sent wishes for their health and safety, and begged them to write upon reception of the letters, which they did, assuring them that everyone was well (including Danny Maddox), Alison was enjoying herself, and Geoffrey was managing the journey despite his headsickness. His only relief upon returning to the ship, however, was that they would only be two weeks to India if they had good weather, and he would be ashore again.

Aside from speaking French and some English to the Dutchmen, their conversations were carried out almost entirely in Japanese, to the amusement of the crew. There was not much else to do, as the rocking of the ship and the size of the deck did not lend itself to martial practice. Geoffrey spent most of his time in the cabin, where it was darker, doing his meditation exercises. Because it made the rocking worse to close his eyes, he focused instead on a spot on the wall where Georgie had put up some fabric for him to concentrate on. He could not have imagined how difficult it was to concentrate on something, and all the effort he put into it caused him to frequently lose track of time, to the point where Georgiana was giving him strange looks.

"You missed dinner."

"Was it fish? I'm not hungry."

"Of course it was fish. We're at sea." She unwrapped a napkin to reveal an orange. "Eat this. We can't have you getting sicker than you already are." She kissed him as he took the orange, and sat down on the bed beside him. "Alison is with Nadi-sama. She'll be here in a little bit, unless you want her earlier."

He looked out the window. It was dark, and it hadn't been when he sat down. "Anything that makes the time pass."

She kissed him again, a bit more eagerly. "My lovable grump of a husband. What would I do without you?"

"You would be in prison for _something_ by now."

* * *

A few days later, when the mist cleared, they saw the land that her father was so obsessed with for the first time. They could see the beach, then the hills, and even the stone temples to the gods shaped like animals, or so they were told. While Georgiana was disappointed not to see the Taj Mahal, having had her father's sketch of it on her wall for many years, it did not come as a surprise. It was many miles inland and upriver from the colony they docked in, and those pathways were full of wild animals and disease. For health reasons, they stayed mainly within British areas during their brief stay, venturing out only with Brian and Nadezhda as guides. The absurdity of being served British tea from a brass set overlooking the Indian wilds was not lost on Geoffrey. Danny, who had brought no normal clothing, looked as outcast as Brian.

Every dog was "Gawan" to Alison, and Geoffrey had to keep her back from the more ferocious ones. Georgie did venture out to the monkey vendors, and played with them for quite a bit before disappointing the salesman by not buying one. They did purchase gifts for their relatives, to be sent out with their letters. For once, they were the senders, and not the receivers, and Brian did his best to make sure they were not completely stolen from in terms of price.

"The captain says we have to make a stop in Batavia," Brian explained when it was time to re-board. They could make their stop in India longer on the return, but they had to move with the ship. "It should only be a few days out of the trip."

Georgie groaned; she was getting anxious. Danny penned yet another apology letter to his parents at Brian's insistence, but refused an offer from a British soldier of a return trip to England. Brian briefly proposed throwing him on the boat and being done with it, but Geoffrey intervened.

There was a stop in Hong Kong, but there was yellow fever at port and the stop was literally only a few hours, most of them spent on the ship. They stayed below deck, looking out at the thousands of tiny sailboats through the porthole until they disappeared from view. Geoffrey was managing the rocking better and better, and by the time they reached the island of Java, he was not racing to dry land. In Batavia it was more British food and clothing and buildings, with the natives kept at bay by walls and guns. After many hours of begging, Alison finally got her chance to swim in the ocean, which seemed an impossibly beautiful blue, shaming Ireland in comparison. Georgie waded in while holding her, her wooden shoes protecting her from the rocks, so Alison could splash around a little bit and be in the water without any danger.

"You'll appreciate this," Brian said as he approached Geoffrey, who was lounging with his feet in the sand on a beach chair, "when we're stuck in a wooden house in Dejima."

"If we even get that lucky."

"Yes."

A passing local man in a bright skirt offered them unfamiliar fruit, which they passed on, eating only colony food. So far they had avoided disaster at sea and illness. They were lucky.

Geoffrey wrote his parents a final time. _Tonight we leave for Japan. Keep us in your prayers_.

* * *

The morning mist taunted them, keeping from their long-awaited goal as they stood on the deck. It was Alison who shouted "_Yama!_" ("Mountain!") and pointed to the grey peak in the distance.

"I told you Japan will put the Peak District to shame," Brian said, and Geoffrey was forced to agree with him. He had never seen anything so tall in his life.

When Brian had emerged from below deck he was wearing his black kimono, and the front of his head was carefully shaven and the back tied up in a little topknot. With his frizzy hair, it looked positively bizarre, because his hair would not cooperate with his strange ideas for it, but Geoffrey bit his tongue.

They saw little specs on the water – fishing boats with men in them, all with black hair and shaved heads like Brian. The boats were barely more than canoes, and the men carried nets and spears, but they stopped their activity to wave at the people on the boat. "Oi! You want to buy some fish?"

"So sorry, our boat is not allowed to stop!" Brian shouted back.

The strangest thing to Geoffrey was he was mainly able to understand that. _I can understand Japanese!_

There was visible excitement and tension for the sailors, even the seasoned ones who knew what to expect as they approached a massive city of wooden homes in front of the mountain region. Upon closer inspection, the houses were built on wooden docks above the water, not the land itself. "Look, Alison. Dejima!" Georgie cheered.

His wife was smiling; that was all Geoffrey truly needed to know.

The city of Nagasaki proper was on the mountainside, and its houses more beautiful and covered in unfamiliar paints and materials. The water was filled with tiny fishing and shipping vessels, but nothing the size of their ship or carrying the Dutch flags.

There were people gathered as they approached. The captain of the ship was in full regimentals, and called out to another Dutchman on dock for what Geoffrey assumed was permission to approach.

Brian pointed to the European surrounded by Japanese with swords and a few with archaic rifles. "That's the Opperhoofden, Meijlan."

"Do you know him?

"Not as well as I knew Doeff, but well enough. He should know we're coming. Oi!" He called out to the Opperhoofden (or "commissioner") and waved. Meijlan waved back.

Words in Dutch were exchanged, and the sailors ordered to lower the plank so the Opperhoofden and the Japanese officials could board. All of the Japanese men were very neat and clean, and their outfits and swords in perfect order. Geoffrey suddenly felt very hairy and disgusting, having been aboard a boat for months where his vertigo prevented him from using his razor. The last time he had shaved was in Batavia, and despite Brian's recommendation, he refused to shave his wide sideburns or his chest like Danny did; some British pride remained intact. His coat was looking worn, his necktie not done properly or even remotely starched, and he probably smelled. He unconsciously shrunk back, and not just because everyone else seemed so heavily armed. Georgiana was in a beautiful kimono given to her by Nadezhda, saying her own clothes were too filthy from the journey, and she covered her hair with a handkerchief. Geoffrey could not help but note that they were in the one place in the world where she could wear her geta shoes and not look at all strange.

After the captain and the Opperhoofden spoke, Brian came forward and they all bowed to each other and exchanged greetings in Dutch and Japanese.

"Opperhoofden Meijlan," Brian said, gesturing for the rest of his family to come over and speaking in Japanese. "This is my nephew Jeffrey-san and his wife Jorgi-san, and their daughter, Alison. And may I introduce my other nephew, my brother's son, Dani-san?"

"Welcome to Japan, Mr. Jeffrey. And your full name?"

He bowed and said in English, "Mr. Geoffrey Darcy, of Pemberley, Lancashire, and Derbyshire. And this is my wife, Mrs. Georgiana Darcy, and my cousin, Mr. Daniel Maddox the Second."

Meijlan spoke something quietly to the Japanese man to his right, and then turned to Brian. "It is a larger crowd than we expected. Is there a nurse for the child as well?"

"There is not."

"And Mr. Darcy will be delivering the gift from England to the shogun by himself?"

"He intends to take his family, if possible."

"We will have to apply to the magistrate for them to stay here. It may take months to appeal to Edo."

"We understand that."

"Do you have weapons?"

"Only swords," Brian lied. "My own, my wife's, and two others."

"Do you have books?"

"Only the medical one."

The Opperhoofden nodded and spoke more with the Japanese man, then announced, "The magistrate will allow them to be inspected and enter Dejima as normal until he has a reply from Edo."

"I have a letter for the shogun, if you would permit it, to accompany his request."

"Of course, Mr. Maddox."

"Thank you, sir."

There was a lot of bowing all around, and the Japanese officials began to board. A translator was fetched who spoke English, who separated them. "So sorry, but we will inspect all of your items, now, before you can enter Dejima."

"We speak Japanese, sir," Georgiana said.

"It does not matter," he insisted in English, then bowed very politely, and they showed him to their cabin. Two more men accompanied him, who began to go through all of their things, and asked him to present any books or religious items they might have. Geoffrey presented some blank journal books, and the medical book, which they took.

"This will be inspected, and returned to you. Do you have any religious artifacts?"

"No."

"Do you have any crosses?"

"No."

"Are you Protestant or Catholic?"

"Protestant." They were prepared for all of these questions by Brian and Nadezhda. The Japanese were very suspicious of Catholics, who had once brought many missionaries to Japan.

"Is your wife Protestant?"

"She is."

"We will have to inspect your wife and your daughter. You may be present."

It was not as gruesome as it sounded. Brian said that merchants had once attempted to sneak things in by wearing baggy clothing, so the officials merely squeezed her sleeves to make sure there was nothing hidden in there. Still, he would have preferred if a couple of random men were not pawing his wife, but Georgie just rolled her eyes at him when they did. Alison was merely amused, and they let her go, and she ran behind her father's legs as they opened their trunks.

"You have many walking sticks," said one of the inspectors in Japanese, which the translator uselessly repeated in English.

"I collect them. Some are gifts for the shogun," he said in Japanese, which the inspectors pretended not to understand until the translator parroted it. This much was true – one of them was made with silver tips and intended as a gift, but two of them concealed gun parts inside them, locked too tight to be noticed. He was relieved when they set them down and went through their clothing, and letters.

"Who is this?" asked the translator, holding up a portraiture.

"It is my mother and father," he said. It was a small drawing of his parents, when they were young.

"It is religious?"

"No."

Georgie had another one, of her own parents and siblings when they were children. "They are my family."

The process bordered on tedious, especially with the translator repeating everything they said in Japanese. Aside from the hidden guns and equipment they did not find, the only notable item was Mugen's sword, which was an object of much curiosity. One of the inspectors held it up and the translator asked in English, "Where did you get this?"

"It is my wife's."

"It was a gift to me when I was a little girl," Georgie said.

The inspector removed the blade from the sheath, and inspected it carefully with the cabin candle. "This is a very expensive blade."

"I don't know the difference," Georgie said before the translator could repeat it.

"It is very strange. Can you open it?"

Georgiana removed the little metal hammer from her bag, and pushed out the pin that held the various furnishings together. The handle came off, and she carefully slid off the strange white section of the handle that would have been a simple circle if it was a normal sword, revealing the naked blade end beneath. It was not rusty, but it did not shine like the rest of the blade, and had a hole in it from where the pin had been.

The inspector squinted and read the name on the blade. "Masume Hitoichi. This is a five-body blade! It must be worth thousands of ryo!"

But the translator only said to them, "It is a very fine and expensive blade that you own."

"I understood them," Georgie said, and Geoffrey knew she was choking down her pride.

"Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift."

"From a samurai?"

"From a guard," she said, avoiding the word 'convict.' "He visited England and gave it to me." That was _technically_ true.

"Did he say how he got it?"

"No. It was his. He used it to guard people."

_He used it to kill people is more accurate_, Geoffrey thought.

"Why did he give it you?"

She said, "I don't know."

"Why did you bring it here?"

"In case I see him. He might need it again."

After some deliberation, they accepted this answer and let her reconstruct the blade and return it to its scabbard. "You will remain here until we call for you, upon which you will take all of your possessions and bring them to Dejima. We will send porters."

They bowed. "Thank you."

They left, and Georgie had the blade in her hand, held so tightly her knuckles were white. Geoffrey took her other hand and kissed it. "What is a five-body blade?"

"A masterwork blade."

"I mean, why do they call it that?"

She answered, "Because it can go through five armored bodies without being nicked."

Next Chapter - Ladies of the Night

* * *

Notes:

- Most of the description in this chapter and the next few are based on the written accounts of Charles MacFarlane, who visited Japan in the 1840's, and wrote about their security protocol.

- Germain Felix Meijlan was the Governer (Opperhoofden) of Dejima for the Dutch East India Company from 1826 to 1830. His main responsibility was to coordinate trade relations between the company and the magistrate of Nagasaki.

* * *


	15. Ladies of the Night

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Author's Note: Several people have helpfully commented on my use of the word "Opperhoofden" to mean "govorner." This is not the actual Dutch translation of the word, but it is the actual title the Japanese used to refer to the Dutch governor of Dejima. As the Japanese didn't think much of foreigners in this period, the mistranslation may have been intentional. To read more, search "Opperhoofden" on Wikipedia.

I've put up a Flickr set of photos and artwork to illustrate Japanese life at this time and some of the locations mentioned. Check it out through the link on my forums, or here:

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 at symbol N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 15 – Ladies of the Night

Geoffrey Darcy thought he was used to long formalities, but that was before he came to Japan.

The authorities that swarmed him at all times were quiet, polite, patient, and helpful. They were also intrusive (if very _politely_ intrusive), and seemed to take a long time to do anything not out of laziness but out of thoroughness. They went about their methodical search and interviews with the passengers of the ship and the crew, transferred all their items to Dejima, then went about a long inspection of the living quarters that would house the foreigners and asking if it was suitable (as if they had an option if it wasn't), and finally, a long reading of the various rules governing behavior and polite requests to obey them and be patient with the government.

Foreigners were restricted to Dejima unless given permission by the magistrate. Guards were posted on each end of the one ramp that led to land. Foreigners could not go out without a specific stated purpose. Foreigners could not be out at night, and must return to Dejima before sundown. Foreigners could not be unescorted by less than ten people, one being a translator. Foreigners were encouraged to wait politely while the translator spoke to the Japanese locals for them, even if what they said was originally in Japanese. Foreigners were not to have direct discourse with the locals. Japanese not on official business were not permitted in Dejima at all, and never after dark. Goods could be purchased for shipment home, but could not be carried directly back to Dejima, but instead would be delivered to the next departing ship. Certainly high quality goods could not be purchased. Foreigners could not be armed without permission from the magistrate, and if they required protection, it would be provided for them. Illness was to be reported to the authorities immediately; no one was allowed to die in Dejima and they would be transported to land if they were close to death and buried in a foreigner ceremony. Foreigners could not hold religious ceremonies of their own of any kind anywhere in Dejima or Nagasaki.

They were shown to their own little wooden house, which to their surprise was completely furnished with fine, Dutch-style furniture. Daniel Maddox had his own place, and Brian and Nadezhda had their own place, all next to one-another. All their food was provided by the government.

When they were settled in and night descended, the little company from England came together in the Darcy house, and Brian brought a bottle of brandy that a Dutch soldier had brought in long ago and they had a toast. "To our imprisonment!"

They had a laugh and a well-deserved drink.

"There's a lot of women outside, it seems like," Geoffrey said. "I saw out the front door. I thought Japanese women couldn't be here at night?"

"Those aren't _respectable_ women," Nadezhda said.

"There isn't much that can't be done with money, even within the walls of Dejima itself," Brian said. "Why do you think I told you to bring a lot of it?"

* * *

The first day, they rested from the journey, and did not attempt to begin the complex process of acquiring a permit to visit Nagasaki proper. Brian and Nadi-sama, who wore the shōgun's crest and knew every guard by name, came and went, mainly to send out letters to Mugen. Geoffrey and Georgie introduced themselves to the neighborhood, which was mainly sailors and merchants, many of whom spoke French and some who spoke English. There was a German couple who had a two-year permit as ambassadors and were bored out of their skulls. Geoffrey was surprised again to find so many European furnishings – a pool table, a pianoforte, decks of cards – that he was almost at home.

But he wasn't, and he admitted he relished some of it. He wore Western dress, but he didn't have to put on a stifling cravat if he didn't want to and wore the shirt open at the neck. He traded in his heavy boots for padded sandals and white knee socks. He didn't even have to wear a hat if he didn't want to. It was oddly liberating.

In the afternoon they went down so far as a landing, where various merchants were offering their wares over the gap, including hot soup and various toys. Geoffrey contemplated buying Alison a pet, but wasn't sure how that would affect their travels, so he just let her play with them and content herself with visiting the German couple constantly, as they had a parrot and a small dog.

He was returning to the higher ramp when the door to Daniel's house burst open and he tumbled out, his bamboo stick falling to the ground beside him. He scrambled to his feet, and bowed to Geoffrey. "Geoffrey."

"Danny. Are you all right?"

He wiped his mouth, which had some blood coming out of it, and picked up the wooden sword. "Just training."

"Sorry!" came Georgie's voice from inside, and Geoffrey couldn't help but smirk as he entered to see his wife in her fighting gear, lowering her own wooden sword. She did not look all that sorry.

"Please try not to kill Danny Maddox," he said. "Because if there are witnesses, I will have to explain it."

"Hey!" Danny shouted.

"You are getting better," Georgie said, helping him back inside. "I mean it." She leaned over and kissed her daughter. "Are Brian and Nadi-sama back yet?"

"No. He said not to expect them for dinner, not that we can offer anything except fish and rice."

"My long-suffering husband."

After dinner, he was invited to play cards with some of the sailors from their ship. He didn't like betting, but the numbers were reasonable, as none of them were very rich, and he returned home breaking even.

The lamps were still lit in the main room, though Alison was nowhere in sight. Georgie sat on a pillow on the floor across from a Japanese woman with her face painted white. "Geoffrey."

"I'm home?" he said, looking skeptically at the woman with the musical instrument, who bowed to the floor at his entrance.

"This is Lady Kaede," Georgie said. He also noticed Mugen's sword was laying between them.

"Is she some sort of sword expert?" he said.

"Geoffrey, I have to have someone to talk to. And she does know something about swords."

"Really?"

"Yes, Jeffrey-san," said Lady Kaede, and he grabbed a pillow and joined them on the floor. "I'm not an expert, but I can tell you this is a very odd sword."

"So I've been told."

"The blade is Japanese, but the hilt is at least partially Chinese," Georgie said. "There are Chinese characters hidden inside. We found them with a light. I always thought they were Japanese, but I couldn't read them."

"Japanese characters are the same as Chinese, but they have different meanings, and the number of characters is smaller," Lady Kaede said.

"Can you read it?"

"I can speak a little Chinese, but I can't read," Lady Kaede said. "I told her I've seen artwork like that on Chinese swords."

He could not at first work out why a courtesan would be so well-traveled, but then he remembered, _She serves foreigners. That would include Chinese, wouldn't it?_ "But it was definitely made here."

"Oh, the blade has the maker's mark. Masume Hitoichi. And it's curved, and Chinese blades are straight."

"Who is Masume Hitoichi?"

Lady Kaede shrugged. "Some sword maker. The name of the owner wouldn't be on the blade, unless the owner wanted it to be, and it would be inscribed here." She pointed to an area that was regularly exposed to light. "And it has handles on it – to block swords. Like the _jutte_ of policemen. I've never seen that before."

"So you don't know Mugen," said Geoffrey.

"No," Georgie answered for Lady Kaede and added, "Do you know any convicts at all?"

"They live in penal colonies. They make very fine silk – the highest quality in Japan. The government makes them do it."

"It sounds like somewhere Mugen wouldn't go unless he had to," Georgie speculated. "But we could write."

Geoffrey was happy at anything that made Georgie happy, and hope made her happy. "We could."

Lady Kaede offered to demonstrate the shamisen (the three-stringed instrument, with a box on one end and cords tied to the other), and they listened for a short while before retiring. They had the Japanese imitation of a four-poster bed, and a smaller one to the side for Alison, who was sleeping peacefully, clutching the furry doll Geoffrey bought for her to her breast.

"My wonderful daughter," Georgie said as she tucked Alison in a little tighter. "All this and she doesn't even know why. Nor would she understand it if she did."

"_I_ barely understand it." He kissed her. "Nonetheless, at this precise moment, I have no objections."

* * *

Much to Geoffrey's consternation, Georgie quickly made friends with every prostitute assigned to Dejima. Even though they acted with the utmost modesty and respect in his presence despite their profession, he couldn't shake off his natural inclination against his wife and daughter having any association with them.

"You are friends with cousin Frederick," she said.

"Frederick is the son of a whore, not one of them."

Still he did not put his foot down, especially not when he was only wearing sandals. It gave her the feeling she was accomplishing something while they waited in their camp. They had approval to attend the upcoming religious festival in the upcoming week, but nothing else. Unfortunately, none of these women knew Mugen, though Georgie did offer a reward for them if any one of them located someone who did remember a very distinctive person who had been in the area years ago.

It was Brian and Nadezhda who had the skills to come and go, and it was they who brought the first good news. "Mugen was alive at least two years ago."

"Uncle!" Georgie embraced him. "Tell me everything."

"How could we not?" Nadezhda said.

* * *

After two days of searching, Brian Maddox and Princess Nadezhda found the site they were looking for: Miyoshi's grave. When they dug it, it was in a clearing just off the road outside Nagasaki. That threw them off and they circled it several times, not knowing that it had since been turned into a regular graveyard, with a small shrine still being constructed nearby. Seventeen years had passed, so they didn't spend too long blaming themselves, and there was now a proper stone instead of a simple marker at the grave of Miyoshi-no-Fuma. Despite the crowded, stacked gravestones on most sides and fanning out, the plot beside him was empty.

"The place filled up after a fire in Nagasaki," said the Buddhist priest, appearing at their side. "Oh, excuse me. No speak Dutch."

"We speak Japanese," Brian said. "Please, why is the plot beside him empty?"

"It is reserved. It was done many years ago, when this was designated a graveyard, and when I was transferred here, a man came and paid for it."

"Did he give his name?"

He smiled serenely at them. "It was a long time ago. But I may have the receipt somewhere..."

"Wait, Sensei," Nadezhda interrupted. "Did he come to visit this place?"

"Yes, he would come once every year or two, on the anniversary of this samurai's death." He gestured to Miyoshi's grave. "I remember he was not samurai himself."

"His name was Mugen," Brian said. "He was – is – our friend. We're looking for him."

The priest paused, and then said, "I will answer your questions if you answer this to my satisfaction: How many spokes are there on the wheel of Dharma?"

They looked at each other. "Uhm, seven? No, that's seals ... Is it fifteen?"

"Stations of the cross, Brian. You're thinking of that."

"Right. Ten?"

The priest held up his hand. "I am satisfied. You are not priests; you are not even Buddhists, or you would know the answer. It is eight."

"Eight! I knew it!"

"But you didn't, which is the point. So I will tell you of your friend."

They went into the shrine, and sat down on the mat. Behind them was a bronze Buddha. "As I said, every year your friend would visit this shrine and pay homage to his samurai. One year – many years ago, it must have been as many as ten – three Chinese monks came to Nagasaki as traders, and spoke to all the priests in the city, and eventually came to me, asking about a man with convict tattoos and a strange sword. I was honest in saying that I did not know where he was, or when he would return, if he ever would. So they waited in town, and did not talk to me, and that year, he did not come at all, so they left, and went north.

"I did not hear from them again. I made inquiries into town, for I knew they most likely would return the way they came as is the law, and discovered they were not priests, at least not from the way they behaved. They were violent, demanding people, and were nearly thrown out of town on a number of occasions. The magistrate was happy to see them gone and happier when they did not return. I did not concern myself with it again until two years ago, when I received a note, with instructions to burn it upon reading it. It said, 'Do not send any more monks my way or I will send you to Naraka.' It was signed with an infinity mark, and nothing else."

"His name means endless dreamer, I believe," Brian said. "You say this was two years ago? Did you burn the note?"

"I'm afraid I did. But you are not monks or priests, are you? You are his friends."

"We are. We're looking for him." Nadezhda added, "Do you know what the Chinese men wanted with him?"

"They said they wanted to ask him something. They were searching for many years for the answer to a question and they thought maybe he knew it. While he never struck me as a philosopher, I do not believe they were lying when they said it. It is easier to tell a half-truth than a lie."

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Can we leave a note for him with you?"

"You may leave any note you would like, but I doubt he will be around this way soon."

* * *

Geoffrey was the first person to speak, as Georgie was overwhelmed. "What's Naraka?"

"I believe it is the Buddhist hell. Mugen never said he was a Buddhist, but he would know what it was."

"He's alive," Georgie said. "Or, he was. Besides, wasn't ten years ago about when he sent the sword? Maybe that was what they were looking for."

"I don't think it was the sword, but he might have wanted to give it to someone for safekeeping." Brian crossed his arms. "If he's in hiding, he'll have to be drawn out. He won't be easy to find without announcing that we're looking for him."

"But there is reason to hope," Georgie said.

"Yes," Nadezhda said, her voice reasonably subdued. This must have been a yet-unrealized dream for her as well. "There is reason to hope."

* * *

_To Mr. and Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire,_

_As I write this I sit in Dejima, awaiting the government's approval to make the trip to Edo and visit the shōgun. Yesterday I met with two officials and managed to convince them that the book I carried as gift was medical and not religious in any way. They have the oddest tradition of making me speak through an interpreter and pretending not to understand my Japanese. I do not believe I am mistaken in my assessment of my talents at the language, as they do the same thing with Georgiana and even with Mr. Maddox and Her Highness. Talking with them becomes longer than necessary as the translator simply repeats what I say and then repeats their response, which I understood, but I am learning to be patient. _

_Yesterday we were permitted to set foot in Japan for the first time in Nagasaki for a religious festival. I am not exaggerating when I say we required twenty attendants – some as translators, some as guides, some as servants and some guards. Brian told me that this was nonsense, and that we were in no danger whatsoever, as the crime for killing a foreigner is very great because the magistrate does not want to upset trade with the Dutch, which is of more value to them than they wish to admit. The purpose of so many attendants was to keep us under watch, for the government truly does not want any foreign influences that are not entirely necessary (or entirely lucrative), and that includes basic contact and conversation. Even when speaking with locals, it is again all through a translator, and various topics are forbidden, such as English customs and religion. Despite this infrastructure everyone is exceedingly polite and they are gracious hosts._

_During the festival they lit up the streets with colored paper lanterns and paraded a statue through, reminding me of old stories of saints and how they were worshipped before the Reformation. There was also a great deal of noise, and clapping, to frighten away demons; they are very superstitious._

_Georgiana is very anxious to be on to Edo, but we have recently learned that there is reason to believe Mugen is alive and well, so she is not speeding up the process, as it may lead to our rejection and removal to Batavia while we continue to await any response from the shōgun. She is the happiest I have seen her in many years. _

_Alison is doing very well. She is almost making sentences now, though it might disappoint you to know they are in Japanese. The locals love her because she is so small and cute and has red hair, which none of them have, and she is so eager to see everything. We've almost had to buy her a pet several times over, but thank goodness there are some dogs kept by other Dejima residents. At night Brian, Danny, and I play cards with them, but by now all of the sailors are out of money and there is no gambling at all. _

_Please assure the Maddoxes – if you care to go near them – that Danny is doing well. He practices every day with Mr. Maddox or Georgie, and I think he has found a certain peace here. This is something he truly wanted to do, even if he didn't express it for fear of rejection. One eye is failing him, but the other eye remains well enough to see clearly, and he is determined not to waste another moment of his life. For that I admire him. He turns his self-pity into action. He does not drink heavily or gamble at all, and in all respects is a respectable gentleman, as his father would wish of him. _

_I hope you are all well, and that this letter should reach you well before Christmas, but if it does not, Happy Christmas. Please write to Batavia with a note to forward the letter on, and perhaps it will reach us; we are eager for news of home and our loved ones._

_Your Loving Son,_

_Geoffrey Darcy_

"Geoffrey! Are you going to write all night?"

"No," he said, setting the letter aside for the ink to dry. "Certainly not." He passed Alison's bed, which was empty – she was staying with her cousin Danny tonight.

Had he been a far more primitive and salty man, he might have added to the letter that there was some value in a wife being in the constant company of skilled courtesans. Humans were not like dogs; they were never too old to learn new tricks.

Next Chapter - The Tale of Lady Sakayo

* * *

Notes for this chapter and the next:

- Edo is the name for modern-day Tokyo.

- The **Ryūkyū Islands**, also called the Nansei Islands, were part of the Ryūkyū Kingdom that was made up of several islands between Japan and China as well as the island of Okinawa. The indigenous people spoke their own language and still do today to some extent. In 1609, the a Japanese noble invaded and afterwards the Ryūkyū Kingdom became a tributary of Japan, though it also had paid taxes to the Chinese Emperor since the Ming Dynasty. It was formally annexed in 1879 by the Meiji government and is now part of the Okinawan prefecture of Japan.

In our time period, some of the islands are used by the Japanese government as penal colonies, where prisoners harvest silk from bugs to make the kimonos for the mainland. As implied at various points in previous stories, Mugen is of mixed race, descended from both the indigenous people of the Ryūkyū islands and Japanese prisoners that were sent there.

The Okinawans, like the Ainu in the north, are one of the many small indigenous groups that lived in the area today known as Japan before it was invaded by the proto-Japanese, who came from Korea and China around 400 BCE.

* * *


	16. The Tale of Lady Sakayo

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 16 - The Tale of Lady Sakayo

To Geoffrey's embarrassment, Georgie's many contacts came to something: They were told to pay a call on a certain woman, a merchant's wife, living in Nagasaki. They left Alison with Danny and made all the arrangements, and managed to keep the attendants down to a decent number of ten.

They were informed by the translator that they were entering a very prosperous and respectable section of the city. The merchant had a storefront in front of his house proper, and they entered, causing quite a commotion among the servants, who wanted to see the foreigners and their bizarre clothing and hair.

"Ah! You are expected!" said the very polite manager, who helped Geoffrey pay the many attendants to relax in the teahouse next door. They even managed to rid themselves of the translator when enough coin was passed, removed their shoes, and stepped up onto the wooden platform that led to the courtyard, and the inner sanctum of the merchant Kasao's house. "The master is not at home. Please, will you sit here and wait?" They were shown into a sitting room and a tray of tea was set before them.

"I hope this is the right house."

"I hope this is the right lady."

"I hope we don't get the husband first."

Georgie covered her smile with her long kimono sleeve. She hadn't dressed as an Englishwoman since she arrived and seemed to be reveling in it. Other than the money in her sleeve and his pockets, they carried only one item – Mugen's sword, carefully wrapped up like a parcel.

It was not long for Lady Sayako to appear. She was, as most of the women appeared to be, elegant and graceful, with her long over-kimono dragging ever-so-carefully on the ground behind her like a train, and her little white socks proceeding her. Her face was painted, but not as heavily as a geisha. "I am Lady Sayako."

Geoffrey rose and bowed. "Jeffrey-san. And this is my wife, Jorgi-san."

She sat down on the pillow across from them. "Your Japanese is very proficient."

He bowed again. "Thank you, Sayako-san."

"My husband is not at home. Not that it would bother him. He is aware of my origins, but I would still prefer him not to be here for such a sensitive matter." She gestured for the servant to slide the paper door closed, as if that would mute anything, and they were alone. "You are looking for Mugen-chan."

"We are," Georgie said.

"I have not seen him in a long time. I am also no longer the kind of woman he would see, but I have not noticed his presence in Nagasaki, and he usually makes a mess of himself while he's here."

"We have reason to believe he's alive, but in hiding," Geoffrey said, and with Georgie's nod of approval, unwrapped the sword. "He sent this to my wife."

Lady Sayako looked critically at Georgie. "You are very young."

Georgie blushed. "It was a gift. I was a child when I knew him."

"I never knew he cared for children."

"He made an exception," Geoffrey said, wanting to end this line of questioning.

The lady was clever enough to pick up on it. "I knew Mugen many years ago, when my first husband was alive. He was a gambler and we were so much in debt that he rented me to a brothel for ten years." To their expressions, she said, "This is not uncommon, and I had no say in the matter. Unfortunately he would gamble away my earnings, so it looked as though he would never buy me back. Mugen came my way at just the right time, and in lieu of payment, had no problem taking care of that situation. With my husband dead, I worked off my debt and married the man whose child I carried, who is now my husband. I have not seen Mugen since, but if you have any questions, I might be able to answer them."

"Did he ever say where he was from? Or where he was going?"

"He had no destination that I knew of, and he never spoke of his birthplace. He didn't like to talk of anything deep. But from his accent, I would say, he is definitely from the south."

"He once told me he was from Ryūkyū."

"The islands? Those are very far south, close to Okinawa. It wouldn't surprise me. It's all convicts and outcasts down there – penal colonies and the like. No wonder he was so prone to trouble, then."

Geoffrey frowned. "Obviously we have no means to reach there."

"Nor do I think he would return. I don't know why anyone would go back there," Lady Sayako said. "The islands are independent of Japan, officially, but they pay tribute. He may have been raised speaking another language, but he never showed much pride in anything but himself."

"Do you know anything about China?"

"Specific to Mugen?"

Georgie held the hilt of the blade up, pointing where the tiny Chinese markings were. "We can't translate this."

With Georgie's permission, Lady Sayako took the sword into her own hands and looked very closely at it. "It says, 'Quan Yem Temple.' The piece must have belonged to a monastery in China." She handed it back. "I know that Kwan-Yin is a Buddhist goddess of mercy. I'm afraid I can't tell you much more."

"So we would have to speak to someone from China."

"That would be very difficult to arrange. The authorities would be suspicious of you trying to contact the Chinese traders. After all, why would you not just go to China, if you wanted to speak to them so badly? It would be strange to do it here. You would have to arrange some sort of gathering, and have them happen to be invited to have any kind of conversation ... but that would be expensive and complicated to arrange."

They understood, and were prepared. Her husband had contacts with Chinese merchants. They presented her with a small box, which contained silver opera glasses, and the deal was struck.

* * *

The teahouse gathering took three days to arrange, between all of the permits required and all of the attendants that needed to be gathered were gathered. Between Brian and Nadezhda, Danny, and the Darcys, there were fifty of them, and their tab would be picked up for the evening. The terrible rice wine was cheap, so no one would be bankrupted, but it was intimidating nonetheless. Geoffrey felt much better when he translated it back over to English pounds and found out how little it was. Anything for his wife, of course.

They left Alison with the German couple and their dog. The couple was barren, and showered Alison with attention, and there would be guards to make sure nothing happened. The Darcys were separated from their daughter as they left for the evening, though some crying on her part was involved at the last moment before they crossed the only bridge to Nagasaki.

There was drinking, and food (none of it meat, to Geoffrey's disappointment), and translators going back and forth until they were too in the cups (or in the small bottles, to be more accurate) to do otherwise. At last Geoffrey and Georgie sat down with a Chinese merchant, who spoke Japanese. Instead of wearing his own swords, Brian wore Mugen's to get it in, and showed it to the merchant.

"Very fine hilt – and fine blade. Japanese, though. Very odd. It must have gone through much work to be adapted to the curve of the foreign blade," the merchant said. When they offered to pick up his tab, too (which was similarly expensive), he was much more forthcoming. "The Quan Yem monastery is legendary. It was shut down years ago, by order of the Emperor. I think it was somewhere in Canton as you call it, or its real name, Guangdong."

"Where is it?"

"The south – just north of Hong Kong. It has two coasts. I've been there many times, but never to the monastery. I couldn't tell you where it is, but it was a problem, when it was dissolved." He took another drink. "I was a young man, and I remember the protests at the capital. They were small, but they were fierce, and one day, they stopped, and the monks all went back to their monastery. Their master had called them off and submitted to the order, that it would be dissolved upon his death. And then there were more arguments, because the other monks – from Shaolin, I believe – didn't want the monastery dissolved so much as opened. They wanted the secrets there."

"What secrets?"

He shrugged. "These monasteries, they all claim to have secret spiritual wisdom. They must have, because the monks are such good fighters. People get jealous, and it becomes political. Something must have happened to such an extreme to inform the Privy Council, who informed the emperor, who ordered the dissolution. Or maybe they were trouble-makers. Who knows?"

Georgie nodded as patiently as she could. "How long ago was this?"

"I was about to make my first trade so I was ... it must have been thirty years ago. A long time." He raised his cup of sake and then downed it.

"If it was so long ago," Geoffrey said, "the master must be dead."

"Yes."

"What happens to the monks, when a monastery dissolves?"

"Whatever they want to happen. Some join other monasteries, some strike out on their own, some renounce their vows and enter society."

"Could some of them still be around?"

"I suppose." He looked down at the blade. "And I suppose, yes, they would want this back. Or the handle, at least. I wouldn't take it to China with you, unless you knew more about the situation. Maybe the monks are gone."

"Somehow," Georgie said, "I don't think they are."

* * *

After they returned to Dejima, the group held a conference.

"Mugen wasn't afraid to go to China with the sword, not back when I went with Bingley," Brian said. "But Mugen wasn't afraid of anything. And he did tell me he studied in China, so it adds up. It doesn't necessarily mean it brings us closer to finding him, but it explains why he's not making himself so available. The monks who reached him must have really unnerved him somehow. He's probably in the north. It may take time to reach him, and we can't travel there ourselves, so we'll wait for the couriers. If he died, I think he most likely would be buried here, in that graveyard. There is good reason to believe him alive – if a bit unreachable."

They had time. The next day, the Opperhoofden received word that they were all given permits to make the traditional trip to Edo with him – including the women and children, to his surprise. It would be six weeks to reach the capital, and then a similar sort of captivity as they waited to meet the shōgun and waited for his permission to leave, but it bought them time. The next day they penned more letters to be sent to Batavia and then on to England for their family, and various notices for Mugen if he appeared while they were gone, giving their whereabouts. Geoffrey and Georgie worked to pack up all of their gift items and supplies, including the hidden guns, and watched them be loaded into the carriages, which were propelled not with wheels but with men bearing the weight on their shoulders, like ancient history. The caravan, even though it carried only half a dozen foreigners in total, had more than two hundred people with it to serve every possible purpose – and to keep the locals away from the foreigners, and vice versa.

Geoffrey's excitement was muted when he saw the box he was to ride in for the next six weeks. He was assured by the Opperhoofden that this palanquin was especially luxurious because it had four walls, while others were just open, but to him it was still a very small box with a mat inside.

"You look like your father when you snarl like that," Georgie said, hugging him from behind in reassurance.

"It's not a snarl."

"Then it's a grimace."

He kissed her and climbed in. It was too small for two people except if one of them was Alison, but he passed her off to his wife at the first rest stop, as he was too disoriented to deal with her running commentary on the journey, incomprehensible as it was. The men carrying the palanquin were experts, and worked in step, with a song to help them do it, but that was only a small help, and by the second day he stumbled out of the gigantic caravan he had been forced to make halt, red-faced, and stumbled over to the trees that lined the road to be ill. He hid his face in embarrassment when he was rushed by people to inquire after his health, and given awful medicine to drink.

"It's worse than the ship," he admitted to Georgie when they stopped for the night. "Georgie, I'm trying. I truly am." For all of his trying, he could barely sit up. "I don't want to fail you."

"Brian will talk to the Opperhoofden."

He could not have been more embarrassed. He didn't want to face them the next day when they announced that they would let him walk provided he could keep pace, but he had to wear the basket-type hat with slits in the front so the locals wouldn't line up to see him (which they were doing anyway). "I will keep pace," he said with a bow. They dressed him up as an attendant, and continued on their way.

"Thank you," Georgie said as she climbed back into her cart with Alison. "What you've done for my happiness."

"What I have done for you happiness," he grumbled good-naturedly. "I expect to be repaid."

She smiled. "You will be."

The Japanese were a hardy people. It was a fast pace, and he had no idea how some of them were doing it in their sandals, especially the wooden ones, but he managed. He was grateful for every stop, especially the few at hot springs, which was a unique pleasure (even if he had to look at Brian and Danny's filthy upper halves to do it). The scenery, he grudgingly admitted, was incredible.

The towns grew larger and more frequent as the days turned into weeks. He could not have been more grateful when he first saw, through the slits of his tengai hat, the great city of Edo, capital of Japan and seat of the shōgun's palace emerging in the distance.

He would take captivity in an apartment if it meant he could be immobile for days on end. He would take anything to not be walking or riding or in something that rocked back and forth. He could not be more grateful that they had come, at least, to what he hoped would be the end of their long journey.

Next Chapter - Audience with the Shōgun

* * *

Notes for this chapter:

- The **Ryūkyū Islands**, also called the Nansei Islands, were part of the Ryūkyū Kingdom that was made up of several islands between Japan and China as well as the island of Okinawa. The indigenous people spoke their own language and still do today to some extent. In 1609, the a Japanese noble invaded and afterwards the Ryūkyū Kingdom became a tributary of Japan, though it also had paid taxes to the Chinese Emperor since the Ming Dynasty. It was formally annexed in 1879 by the Meiji government and is now part of the Okinawan prefecture of Japan.

In our time period, some of the islands are used by the Japanese government as penal colonies, where prisoners harvest silk from bugs to make the kimonos for the mainland. As implied at various points in previous stories, Mugen is of mixed race, descended from both the indigenous people of the Ryūkyū islands and Japanese prisoners that were sent there.

The Okinawans, like the Ainu in the north, are one of the many small indigenous groups that lived in the area today known as Japan before it was invaded by the proto-Japanese, who came from Korea and China around 400 BCE.

* * *


	17. Audience with the Shōgun

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Author's note: Thank you to Beth for help with forms of address. There are probably a ton of mistakes in this chapter, but I did my best with the source material I had. Suggestions are always welcomed.

* * *

Chapter 17 - Audience with the Shōgun

Geoffrey had six more miles to walk, from the edges of the suburb to the imperial palace where they would be housed for the duration of their stay. In his disguise, he walked alongside a guard who kept him from interacting with the crowds of people in the streets, and he was close enough to Georgie's palanquin to be able to whisper to her what he saw.

Edo was surprisingly like London with the throngs of people walking about the streets, which were remarkably clean, and the rows of shops with signs advertising their wares. It was a bit like the market, except it smelled much better, and he (or the crowd he was with) was the ultimate object of attention. Now they really needed the guards, at least to keep the curious crowds at bay.

"In London, this would be a mob," he said to Georgie.

"They'd be attacking us now," she said through the bars of her window. "Out of curiosity, of course."

"Of course."

Despite the clamor, everything was well-ordered, and the procession was able to make it to the imperial palace, where they were shown directly to their quarters. Like Dejima, or perhaps even more so, the rooms were furnished like a Dutch mansion down to the last detail. The only difference was that the windows were boarded up, and the rooms were adjoining or next to each other in the hallway. As in Dejima, they were prisoners once again, separated from everyone but their many, many attendants.

Geoffrey didn't care. He just wanted to not be on his feet, and sleep on a real bed, and after being helped out of his complex costume, he put on a white kimono and collapsed in a great sigh of relief.

"Papa tired?"

He picked up his head enough to see over the bed, where Alison's tiny hands were clutching the edge of the sheets. "Papa _very_ tired." Despite her Japanese, he remained 'Papa' to her, and he saw no reason to discourage it. "How do you have energy at all?"

"I honestly cannot answer you on that," Georgie said, sitting beside him and taking Alison into her lap. "We have been offered massages. Her Highness heavily recommended them."

"I have not come all the way across the world to have a man caress my back," he said. "And neither have you."

"It could be a woman."

"For me?"

She frowned. "Alison, your papa is being ornery, but I'll allow it, because he's done so much for me."

"_Allow?_"

She kissed him and set Alison down between them. The little girl finally fell asleep, and they both quickly followed.

* * *

When Geoffrey woke, Georgie was gone. Alison was sitting in the corner of the room, playing with a little wooden toy that looked new. "Papa!"

He yawned. "Where's Mama?"

She put her hands up, not understanding the question. He groaned as he stood. "My feet." He hobbled over to Alison, kissed her on the head, and slid open the door to their chamber.

The guard/attendant was waiting for him, and said something in Dutch.

"I don't speak Dutch," he said in Japanese. "I'm English. Where is my wife?"

"She is with O-Maddok-sama, sir. Do you require her?"

"No." He did not _require_ her. "I'd like some tea."

The man bowed very low. "Yes, sir."

"And – do you have some medicine for my feet?"

"Yes, sir." The attendant changed places with another one as he disappeared down the wooden hallway.

Geoffrey sat down in the Dutch armchair and unwrapped the bandages around his feet, but he didn't want to even set them down on the carpet. Fortunately the attendant was quick to return, and bowed to the ground before setting down a hot bowl of water for him to place his feet in, and a tray of tea for the table.

He was still working through his first cup of very hot and very green (but rather pleasant) tea when Georgie entered. "Her Highness is here."

Though he was still in his bed robes, they were hardly transparent, and he would not stand on ceremony, especially when he didn't want to stand. "She can come." He bowed at her entrance. "Your Highness. Excuse me for not rising."

"Mr. Darcy. How are you feeling?"

"How long until we leave?"

"Oh – not for a few weeks, certainly."

He nodded. "Then I'm feeling well."

Georgie gave him a peck on the cheek and checked on Alison as Nadezhda sat down across from him. "Brian is speaking to our various contacts, but the earliest you will see the shōgun is on the 28th. Foreigners only see the shōgun on the 28th of the month."

"What happens if they miss it?"

"They must wait for the next month."

"Astrological superstition?"

She nodded. "There will be some opportunities to attend events within the palace grounds, and to visit the academy where they study Dutch learning, so it's not as if we're shut up in here by the shōgun _entirely_."

"Remind me – is the shōgun or the emperor the figurehead?"

"The emperor is the celestial ruler and figurehead. The shōgun is the descendent of the warlord who claimed power and founded the Tokugawa shōgunate."

"And that's the one you are friends with?"

"I wouldn't say friends, but yes."

"Which one is the Mikado?"

"The emperor. The Dutch will call the shōgun the emperor and the emperor the Mikado, but they're wrong."

He set down the cup. "Where's Danny?"

"I sent him with Brian. He needs to be exposed to the kind of discipline that is expected of him. He was so disappointed that he can't wear a sword."

"And I can't have guns."

"Yes." She didn't say anything else, but they both looked at the bundle that contained the hidden weaponry. "You know," she said in French, "there are spies everywhere."

"Yes."

"Some of them will try to make friends with you. Be polite to everyone, but trust no one."

"Heh," he said, and continued in Japanese. "My father once told me never to give Mr. Maddox my back."

"He would say that," she said with a smile.

* * *

If the trip had separated them, they had plenty of time to catch up. They were asked to receptions maybe a few hours per day, and introduced to countless local lords, many of whom looked the same after a few cups of sake. The rest of the time was their own – in their quarters. They had a sitting room, a dressing room, and a bedroom, all very European and suitable, but it was hard not to feel as confined as they were. It did allow them to rest, and to spend time with Alison, who was beginning to say words correctly. She would be three in a few months, and maybe reading soon. Fortunately paper and ink was available in great quantities, so Geoffrey could draw big letters. "And what is that?"

Alison shyly put her hand in her mouth.

"Say it with me – 'Ayyyeee.'"

"Ayye."

"Very good!" Georgie clapped. "Oh, they offered us a nursemaid."

"A nursemaid?"

"Apparently they were not aware of whether she'd been weaned or not."

"She has teeth!"

"Teeth," Alison repeated, and pointed to the letter.

"No, that is not the letter 'teeth,' I assure you," he said.

They spent the 27th of that month preparing, being carefully instructed in the rituals that awaited them. Alison would be left with a maid. Except for Brian and Nadezhda, all the foreigners in the entire group, including the Opperhoofden, were given silk robes of varying colors to cover their clothing. The next morning they were woken early to be up and ready to be at the palace proper in time for the arrival of the state councilors. This required the palanquins again, but it was a short enough journey for Geoffrey to make it, and they stood at the gate of the palace, surrounded by over a hundred guards (more to keep the people from seeing them). With great Japanese pomp and circumstance they removed their shoes and entered the emperor's palace. The Opperhoofden went first, followed by the lords, followed by Brian and Nadezhda, and Geoffrey, Georgie, and lastly Danny. They were sent to wait in a small sitting room and told to cover their feet with their cloaks.

"Showing your feet is a sign of rudeness," Brian said.

"Then why am I barefoot?"

This, Brian could not answer, and went to meet the shōgun.

An attendant came and spoke to them, to their surprise, in English, to explain all of the steps they were to take and how to compose themselves and where to sit and when to bow and when to speak and when not to speak, and told them that the Opperhoofden would be heavily fined if they made a mistake. They practiced the short ceremony for several tedious hours and could not receive a response to how the Maddox's audience was going.

At last the doorway opened, and the three of them walked in step down the hall of the hundred mats (or so they were told it was), with Geoffrey carrying the gifts for the shōgun in his left hand. Silently, they came at last to the receiving room of the shōgun, which was as plain as the other rooms, with just a straw mat floor. All of the men except for themselves wore pants that went well past their feet and trailed behind them, and Geoffrey wondered how they could walk as he seated himself and bowed to the man who sat in the next room, behind a screen. He appeared dressed not particularly ostentatiously, and the chair he sat in was very plain. The gifts were presented to him – the silver-tipped cane, a spyglass, and the medical book. Geoffrey looked to his left at his wife, her forehead also patiently on the ground, as the attendant spoke quietly with the shōgun.

"Presenting to you Darbsher-no-Darcy-Jeffrey, Darbysher-no-Jorgiana, and Maddoc-Dani."

There was utter silence, as they were told there would be. In fact, they were merely waiting for the signal to shuffle out backwards and leave when the shōgun spoke, "You are here to gift this book of Rangaku?" (Dutch studies)

When the attendant nodded to Geoffrey, he said, "Hai, O-sei-i taishōgun-sama."

"The university for medical studies is closed due to a fire."

They said nothing. They did not know if they should say anything at all.

He continued, "The great scholar, a very promising doctor, was one of those not lost in the fire. He is living in a province not far from here." There were whispers between his minister and himself again. "His name is Dr. Ogata Kōan and he has returned to his village near Okayama, in the Bizen province." He opened the book and held it up, even though they didn't dare raise their heads to see. "I understand that only you understand these drawings?"

"No, O-sei-i taishōgun-sama," Geoffrey said. "I understand some and my wife understands some and my cousin understands the rest."

"How convenient!" He laughed, and it was hard to tell if it was malicious or not. The shōgun closed the book and handed it back between the screen to the attendant, who set it on the floor in front of Geoffrey. "A caravan will take you to see Ogata Kōan so that no time is lost. When you are finished explaining it to his satisfaction, you will return here and be sent to Dejima, to remain there until the ship departs." A scroll was brought forth, and he wrote something on it, probably his signature. "Your aunt and uncle will remain in my company until you return! Until then, you will obey the orders given to you by the lord of the caravan, then the magistrate of Bizen. I am understood!"

"Hai, O-sei-i taishōgun-sama!"

They were ushered out, crawling backwards so that they never raised their heads to the shōgun again, and escorted to another sitting room, to meet the next audience of lords – this one far less important and less intimidating. They could breathe at last, after the book was returned to them by an attendant. Brian and Nadezhda were waiting for them in the room.

"I've never been so nervous," Danny admitted.

"He wouldn't kill a foreigner without a very good reason, but he would fine the pants off the Opperhoofden and make sure none of us ever set foot in Japan again," Brian said. He was, for once, not wearing either of his two swords. "I heard it went well."

"He's sending us to the Bizen province or something," Georgie said. "Was that your doing?"

"It was a way to buy you time in Japan – and some measure of freedom."

"But he's holding you hostage."

"Very observant," he replied. "He does this to the families of all of the daimyo – they all have to live in Edo, and the daimyo have to come back and forth every two years, which is time-consuming and expensive. And that's how the Tokugawa clan has kept peace for two hundred years after a millennia of warfare." He gave them a reassuring smile. "He won't kill us, unless you do something crazy, like lead a rebellion. In fact, he'll make life very comfortable for us." He added in French, "And even if he doesn't, this won't be the first ruler who has tried to kill us."

Geoffrey could not help but be uneasy. "Let us hope it does not come to that, Mr. Maddox."

* * *

More ceremony awaited them, in the form of meeting lords. Many wanted to inspect Geoffrey's pocket watch, and even asked for instructions on how to build one, and he had to politely explain many times over that he could not begin to provide that. Many women wanted to see the orange-haired girl, so much so that Georgie began claiming the girl was ill or resting to keep them at bay.

They had a lecture from Opperhoofden Meijlan about their behavior, and how poorly it would reflect on them if they made even a bit of trouble.

"You've been granted permission to wear one sword, Mr. Darcy," he said. "And your wife may wear a dagger. And you, Mr. Maddox, may also wear a sword."

Geoffrey was surprised that Danny didn't cry out in joy.

"It's best if you don't draw them, and you won't need to – you'll be well-guarded. If anything out of the ordinary happens, send a report and return to Edo immediately. Two of the guards will also be authorized to carry rifles, and should one find its way into your hands, you may use it." He handed him a folded piece of paper. "This is your authorization for your travels and your weaponry from the shōgun. Everyone should honor it, but keep your head down. And I mean that literally."

"Thank you, Opperhoofden."

"You will report to the magistrate, and be given an amount of money to help him support you while you are there. Your uncle has told me you're very scrupulous with your money, Mr. Darcy."

"I am, sir."

"Good. And you don't gamble?"

"No, sir."

"Don't take up the hobby."

When the Opperhoofden left, Brian was more reassuring. "He was being strict with you because his career depends on it. Also, he doesn't want to have to explain to the English crown how he got you killed by letting you do this, and I have no intention of living to see the English crown find out you were killed." He added, "Stall as long as you can in Bizen. We'll keep looking for Mugen." He put a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Wipe that smile off your face and promise me you won't do anything stupid. I promised to protect you, and I won't be able to when you're in Bizen."

"Yes, Uncle Maddox."

"He's saying, don't do anything he would do," Nadezhda said, which Brian didn't contradict. "If any letters come to Dejima for you they'll be forwarded here, and we'll try to get them to you."

"Thank you, Uncle Brian." Georgie had tears in her eyes. "For everything."

He was at his utmost seriousness. "Thank me by living."

* * *

The shōgun was serious when he said he didn't want them to tally. They were excused from all further hosting/visiting duties and the caravan was assembled within a few days. Surprisingly, it was smaller than what was required for even a night's entertainment in Nagasaki, being only ten people (including the carriers for all three palanquins, a translator, and three samurai as guards). The leader of the samurai and their guide was not interested in speaking to them directly, much less listening to Geoffrey's pleas about riding in the dreadful box. He would have to suffer.

There were hugs and kisses all around. Brian and Nadezhda held themselves back from openly crying, but they made it clear that they were worried about the trip they had engineered, now that it had become a reality. "Goodbye, nephew."

"I'll be back sooner than you think," Danny Maddox said.

"The right answer," Brian said, and gave him another hug. "I would never let my brother do something so stupid. Why was I so negligent with you?"

"Because you love me?"

Brian heaved a sigh. "I don't know, nephew." He shook Geoffrey's hand. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Mr. Maddox."

"If he is to be found," Nadezhda said to Georgie, "you will find him. Or I will hunt him down and kill him myself for disappointing you."

"I know very well he might be dead."

"But you don't believe it."

Georgie bit her lip. Nadezhda kissed Alison and carried her to the palanquin. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye!" Alison responded in Japanese.

Geoffrey looked to his own box. "I forgot how small it was."

Georgie hugged him. "I will never be able to repay you for this."

"You can certainly try."

With a final wave and kiss on his wife's cheek, he climbed into that cramped box that would be his home for the next few weeks. "G-d, I know I'm forbidden to talk to you and some such nonsense, but if you can hear me in this heathen country, guide us to safety. Or at least my wife and child." He closed his eyes, and swallowed as they lifted up the palanquin, and began to move.

Next Chapter - A Road to a Post-Town

* * *

Notes for this chapter:

- Most of this formalized encounter with the shōgun was taken from Charles MacFarlane's account of visiting Edo during the same period.

- "Dutch Studies" referred to Western studies, usually medical, which were much further advanced than Japanese medicine. During the Tokugawa Period, studying Western medicine (which arrived via Dutch ships and was usually in Dutch) was at times completely banned and at times partially allowed, and when it was allowed, Japanese physicians would rush to acquire foreign books as they became available.


	18. A Road to a PostTown

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 18 - A Road to a Post-Town

Either because the shōgun told him not to listen to the foreigners or because his personality was inclined that way anyway, the samurai commander would not listen to Geoffrey's concerns about the ride or even slow it down. They went straight for nearly two days, changing carriers as one would change horses at rest stops, at which the foreigners were not permitted to leave their palanquins if any locals were present. This was a normal caravan of some unimportant merchant family and there was no reason for speculation about it. As a result, their world was restricted to their boxes and their conversation restricted to Alison, for whomever had her at the moment. At night or during the heat of the day they would emerge, and maybe relax in the shade off the side of the highway.

"You're looking well, all things considered," Georgie assured her husband.

"The meditation – it is very helpful," he said. He succeeded the first week without being ill, but not the second. He swallowed his pride and ignored the comments between the three samurai about the weak-willed, hairy foreigner they were assigned to guard. Everyone in the family was looking worse-for-wear, but Geoffrey was especially bad, according to a consensus of the others.

"A few more days," his wife whispered to him. "We've made good time and there hasn't been any rain. Just a few more days."

He nodded, but was not assured.

"Do you want to take Alison? She might distract you."

They switched at the next stop, and Georgie was right. Though he was tired and dizzy, he was happy to have his daughter at his side, even when she prevented him from sleeping with incessant, often incoherent questioning.

He needed something to focus on. After making sure the drape was totally closed, he opened the bag and began to re-assemble the smaller of the pistols hidden among his things. He did not answer Alison's questions about what it was, not out loud. "Just watch Papa," he said, and took it apart again, and put it back together. The rhythmic motion was soothing to his addled mind.

There was a sudden bump in the road when one of the carriers had a coughing fit, and suddenly the meditative practice was not soothing enough. After the jerk forward, he knocked on the wood. "Tomare!" (_Stop!_) He did not wait for the full halt. He tumbled out of the palanquin and ran to the woods, bracing himself against a tree.

"Papa!"

He could not think, nor see, so he did not stop her from joining him, holding onto his back as he knelt on the ground. "Sorry, sorry." He was too dizzy to know what he was apologizing for. There was shouting in the background, probably the samurai, but he didn't care. He kicked some dirt around and sat on a rock, holding his daughter. "I feel better." He pressed on his chest. "I feel better."

He had just come back to his senses when he heard a crash, and then another, with the unmistakable sound of wood splintering, and shouting in Japanese. Instinctively he spun around (a mean feat for him) and grabbed Alison, hugging her against his chest as he ducked behind a tree as he watched one of the samurai be cut down by a man with a sword he didn't recognize. Behind him went the palanquin carrier, too slow to avoid being impaled.

"Don't look," he whispered, and held Alison's head against his vest. Then he remembered – he had the assembled, loaded gun in his hand. He was holding it when he left his box and he never let it go. Brian taught him that much. "Don't look. And cover your ears," he said again, more assuring, and turned, and fired on the attacker who had just killed three of their team before his eyes. The man stumbled back in shock at having taken a bullet to the chest, his blue kimono wet with blood, and he dropped wordlessly to the ground. Geoffrey ducked back behind the tree.

He had seen everything. All the palanquins were on the ground. There were at least six people moving, most of them in colors he didn't recognize as members of their group. No sign or word from Georgie or Danny. Did they have their weapons? Were they alive?

Geoffrey Darcy was not going to wait for any further slaughter. Holding his daughter so she was facing away from the action, he stepped back out and took aim at the unfamiliar man with two swords – he must have been ronin, or an assassin – getting ready to cut down their last samurai. "G-d help me." He fired, and the man dropped.

More shouting, this time in his direction. One of the attacking bandits had picked up a caravan rifle, but was still trying to light the fuse, giving him enough time to duck back into the foliage. But they knew he was there. It was only a matter of time before –

Georgie's war cry was unmistakable. She already had her blade drawn when she leapt out of the fallen palanquin, and had no hesitation at cutting down the bandit with the rifle before he could react. The second one, another samurai, was ready, and their blades met with a clash. While he recovered from his shock, she ducked down and kicked one of his knees with her wooden shoe, and from the way he cried out, she must have done some serious damage. Georgie did not give him time to even fall to his feet before she sliced him in the back.

Another ronin had picked up the fallen rifle, and used the metal part of it to block her blade, which could not cut through that heavy steel, at least the way she swung it.

"Hey!" came Danny Maddox from behind him, raising his sword, but he didn't swing.

"Danny!" Geoffrey emerged from the woods again, to fire on the bandit coming up behind Danny with a pike, dropping him when he was close enough to tear the back of Danny's kimono. The ronin between them, Georgie beheaded.

"Duck!" she shouted, and Danny listened as a spear came their direction, from the other end of the caravan. It was blooded from use, and their samurai from the other end was dead, a bandit standing over him and the body of the translator. He drew his blade, and Georgie leapt from broken palanquin to another to meet him, leaping from above and coming down. Their blades met, but hers got between him and his blade, and when she finished her swing, both his hands followed the steel to the ground.

"Don't look," he repeated, clutching Alison so she could not see the blood gushing from the man her mother was fighting. Georgie ended with a stab to the neck, just above his armor, and he cried no more. He dropped beside the men he had killed, and blood pooled around his dismembered arms and his neck.

A very trying silence followed. Geoffrey felt he had to break it, or he would explode. "Is anyone else still alive?"

There was a groan and they all raised their weapons. A man was hidden by the fallen cloth of the flag, and Georgie pulled the cloth away with her sword tip, revealing one of their attendants. He was wounded in the arm from a slice probably intended for his entire torso, but he was alive. "Please, please! Don't kill me!"

Georgie withdrew her sword. "Alison."

"She's all right," Geoffrey said, on instinct. "Aren't you, Alison? Were you scared? You don't have to be scared. There was an accident, and it's over." His daughter was unharmed, and she grabbed his vest and looked up at him, but he slung his pistol into his belt and turned her head away. "Don't look at Mama. She needs to change."

"I do, don't I?" Georgie looked down; her kimono was covered in blood. "Danny, can you dress a wound?"

Danny Maddox, numb and shaking, eventually nodded.

"Then do it! What are you waiting for?"

He bowed, replaced his blade, and ran to the attendant. "What is your name?"

"Kiso," he stuttered.

Georgie didn't strip. Instead she grabbed the jacket of one of the fallen samurai and tied it around herself very tightly, hiding what lay beneath. "My baby." She held out her arms and Geoffrey knew to fill them. "My baby."

"She was with me the whole time," Geoffrey said.

She could no longer stand. He helped his wife kneel, holding Alison tightly. "My baby," she said, tears in her eyes.

"She's all right." He surveyed their caravan. "Not that I can say the same for the rest of us." Aside from Kiso, the attendant, all of the members of their caravan were dead. Fortunately, so were the bandits. He checked them, just to be sure. This time, his stomach held, and he walked around to where Kiso was being bandaged by Danny, whose hands were still shaking. "How is he?"

"This will hold for now, but he needs to be stitched as soon as possible."

"Can you do it?"

"I – I think so. Yes."

"We have to get out of here," Geoffrey announced. He knelt beside the terrified attendant. "Kiso? My name is Geoffrey."

"Jeffrey-san."

"Yes. We're going to help get you to safety. Do you know the way to this village in Bizen?"

Kiso nodded furiously. "Yes, Jeffrey-san."

"Good. Hold on." He stood. "Danny, we have to – Danny?"

Danny looked as if in a trance. "I couldn't do it."

"What? You helped save us all. There was nothing – "

"I couldn't kill the bandit. Georgie had to do it. And I didn't know there was even one behind me until you shot him."

"You can be grateful, then, that it's not on your soul that you're a murderer," Geoffrey said in all seriousness, but seeing that this would not satisfy Danny, he put a hand on his shoulder. "It just shows you're not ruthless. If the time should ever come, you will have it in you. But I need you now, to gather everything important so we can leave this terrible place."

Danny nodded, and they went about the business of salvaging the situation, though it was long behind salvaging. Danny took the daisho, the two swords from the samurai commander, and Geoffrey took another short sword, along with all of his own weapons.

"Geoffrey," Georgie said after she had calmed Alison down, and even distracted her into pretending one of the fallen palanquins was a little castle. "We'll have to walk, and we can't do it as we are."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean lose the shirt, Darcy."

She was being serious. They collected unbloodied and unsoiled clothing, and Geoffrey changed behind a tree, neatly rolling up his English clothing into a ball and putting it in the pack. When Georgie, who had a spare kimono in her things, managed to correct the mistakes he made tying up his kimono for the road, she wrapped a scarf around his head to hide his hair and some of his face as she did with hers, and above that, they both put on those face-hiding bowl hats. Danny, who would have to pass as their samurai, put on the ronin gasa, the lampshade hat that also disguised most of his features. Fortunately he had shaved his red and curly hair down to a minimum before leaving.

That left Kiso. They gave him a new outer jacket to cover his wound and bandage, but otherwise he was fine. "Find where the samurai hid their money."

"In their sleeves." Kiso demonstrated, and between that and looting the packages, they recovered all of the money for their journey, and then some from the bandits. Kiso also knew how to make the ties so that Alison, wearing a scarf over almost her entire head, could ride on her father's back. If there was a fight, Georgie would need to be more mobile than Geoffrey, who had two pistols and a rifle to his name. She carried the pack, and they gave a staff to Kiso.

There was one thing to do before they left. Kiso was mystified as the two Westerners dragged all of the bodies to the side of the road and covered them in the bloodied kimonos that had been discarded. "Should we say a prayer?" Danny asked.

"I don't know."

"Mr. Grégoire would say they're damned to hell."

"For their actions, not for their beliefs. And not all of them. He would be forgiving." He crossed himself, and Danny and Georgie followed suit. "Kiso, you said you know the way?"

"Hai, Jeffrey-san."

"Then let's be going."

There was nothing else to be said. They took with them, and left behind them, a peaceful silence that masked the events of the day. They could not look back.

* * *

Kiso was not from the region, but he was very familiar with Japanese roads and landscape to manage. They pulled off the road well after sunset, and lit a small fire under a bridge. Only then could they give his wounds proper attention. Georgie had a sewing needle; it would have to do. With Danny helping her mainly out of instinct and what he'd picked up around the Maddox house, Georgiana sewed closed the cut in Kiso's upper arm, which was helped along with generous portions of sake that Geoffrey fed him. Shortly after his operation, their guide fell asleep, his head on a rock.

"How much food do we have?" Georgie asked.

"Enough for a few days. More if we go hungry and only feed Alison." His daughter was asleep in his arms, exhausted from the events of the day. "Kiso said if we keep a steady pace, it shouldn't take longer than a few days. We can't risk stopping at an inn, even with the shōgun's letter."

"Do you think they were assassins?"

Georgie answered Danny's question. "I think they would have been better, if they were assassins. I think we would all be dead. We just looked like rich merchants and therefore easy pickings."

"Thank G-d we weren't," Geoffrey said.

"I think your headsickness saved us all, Geoffrey."

He managed a smile at that. "Perhaps."

Those Japanese mats he had so dreaded were light and easy to roll up and carry, so they had enough for the four of them, if Georgie and Geoffrey shared one with their daughter between them. Even though it was a tight squeeze, Geoffrey would not have wanted to sleep any further apart from either of them.

* * *

Geoffrey was woken early by Danny, so the younger man could get some rest of his own. In the early hours of the morning, Geoffrey could find a small measure of peace, despite the events of the previous day and how close they had come to total disaster. As soon as they were in Bizen – if they made it – he would have to send a courier to Edo and assure Brian and Nadezhda they were alive. By then, they might have an alternate version of the story, if someone properly identified the remains of the caravan.

He played over the various situations in his mind. It could have gone worse, of course. And if they made it to the magistrate's domain, they would have the same measure of safety they would have had without the attack. They had the money – more than enough – and all of their belongings, including his guns. They were uninjured, except for Kiso, and he would recover if he didn't develop an infection. Even if he did, Geoffrey thought grimly, he would surely last long enough to lead them to their destination.

"Are you all right? Do you need more rest?" It was his wife's voice. He looked over his shoulder at her, her sleeves tied up, her shoes on, her sword slung over her shoulder. His warrior wife, ready for battle.

"I'll be fine," he said. It was well after dawn. "When Alison wakes, we'll wake the others and get moving."

Georgie knelt beside him and leaned against him, taking his hand in hers. "I think Alison will be all right. You did a good job of protecting her."

"Thank you."

"Danny's ashamed of himself."

"Ashamed that he didn't find it so easy to kill? I'm ashamed that I _did_."

"Your family was in danger. I was in danger. Alison was in danger. You were acting on instincts."

"Brian tried to warn me, how dangerous it would be."

"You didn't listen because you wanted to make me happy," she said, her voice not guiltless. "Now we're stranded in a hostile country because I wanted to chase after a man I haven't seen since I was a child, a man who may well be dead."

He managed a smile at her, and turned her head so she saw it. "This journey is important to you, so it is important to me. And I've my share of making foolish and downright dangerous decisions. I'm an old hat at it."

"Our parents weren't this foolish."

"You once told me that you never wanted to be like our parents, and now we just have sufficient proof that we aren't."

Georgie chuckled, which was a wonderful thing to hear. Looking back, he didn't know how he could have started the day without it.

* * *

The good weather lasted for days, and the town of Imbe was alive with traffic despite its current status of crisis. The harvest was good, but not good enough, and the land tax loomed over their calendar. That alone was not enough to stop what little trade there was, and the shops in the main street were open, and the market filled with farmers selling their extra stock. The heat of the day was no longer as powerful, but they still found it near unbearable, and took shelter beneath the shade of the awnings. There was no one to tell them to move out of the streets and not look so lazy, because the magistrate was busy with other concerns, or drinking away his other concerns.

There was nothing interesting at all until four strangers walked into town. Five, to be precise, if they counted the child.

There was something odd about them from the start. Only one was samurai, but they were all armed except for the man with the walking stick, and the man with the child had guns – several of them. That was enough for the villagers to keep their distance – though, not that much of a distance.

"Oi," ("_Hey_") said the man with the child on his back to a beggar, sitting on the bench. "Is this the office of Machi Bugyō Matayasu Inaba?" ("_town magistrate Inaba Matayasu"_)

The beggar held out his hand, and the stranger dropped a coin into it. "Hai," the beggar replied.

"Domo Arigato." ("_Thank you very much_") Without another word, the four of them opened the curtain and entered the offices of the magistrate. Not that that would stop the crowds, who huddled around the windows to see the action inside.

"We are here to see the magistrate."

The servant bowed. "And who are you?"

The man produced a sheet of paper, and whatever it said, the servant was quivering by the time he finished reading it. "The caravan is coming here?"

"We are the caravan," he replied, and removed his sando gasa hat. The servants barely had time to shut the windows before the villagers got a full view, but a partial view was enough.

"_Foreigners!_"

...Next Chapter - The Gaijin

* * *


	19. The Gaijin

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Author's Note: I know that everyone here who's in for the long haul is not coming to comment every chapter or even every story, and I do know you're reading if you're subscribed, but I am curious to see if people have really dropped off because of this Japan thing. It's going forward anyway, and I apologize for my readers who are just interested in English Pemberley stuff, but we won't be back in England until story 10. This is my personal favorite story even if it's a tangent, and I sincerely hope that you'll come along with me on it, so leave a note if you are or are just completely lost.

* * *

Chapter 19 – The Gaijin

Being not only a foreigner but a tall, hairy one that towered over the servant, Geoffrey imagined he cut a very intimidating figure. After feeling ill and weak and treated as inferior for months for one reason or another, he had to try his best not to revel in it. "May we see the magistrate?"

"Of course, sir. Please, sit, and I will get him for you!"

Another servant quickly appeared and bowed, and begged them to step up to the receiving room. Geoffrey was never so happy to have his shoes off and stepped up to the matted floor, where he could set Alison down. "Don't go running anywhere." He kissed her on the head for good measure.

Danny and Georgie were reluctant to give up their swords, but it was the polite thing to do, and they were set on stands. Water basins were brought for the guests to wash their hands and feet, but beyond that, there was no time wasted, especially with four very unusual guests.

The head servant slid open the door to the inner sanctum, where an older man in a silken uniform kimono and an exasperated look on his face bade them to sit. He had the note, and he took also the medical book as a tray of tea was set between them, and they were all served. He spent far longer looking over the letter from the shōgun than was needed to actually read it, flipped through the book he clearly did not understand, and closed it. "So – you are here to present this gift to the physician Ogata Kōan."

Geoffrey bowed. "Hai, O-Magistrate-Sama."

"I received a letter from Edo some days ago saying you would be traveling with guards and attendants, but you have only the one."

"We were attacked on the way," Georgie said. If the magistrate had any problem with her speaking, he decided to hide it. "Kiso-san is all that remains of our party besides ourselves."

"But you escaped."

"We were very fortunate."

The magistrate looked down quite obviously at the pistol tucked into Geoffrey's obi, then back up at him. "So you were." He placed the note neatly on the book and slid it back to them. "My instructions were to house you for the duration of your stay and provide protection. I was also informed that the government would provide me with the necessary funds to do so."

Geoffrey reached into his sleeve and removed the package, which contained a week's worth of the money provided by the government. It was generous for a week – that he knew. He had no intention of saying how much they had, and how much of their own funds they had beyond that. "For the first week." He set the money down next to the book.

"I do not know how costly it will be, as you have now only one attendant."

"We only need one attendant, maybe two at the most. We are accustomed to traveling alone."

The magistrate did not look pleased. "Very well. You will be shown to your quarters. My attendant will see to your needs while yours recovers from the road. I will also have to notify the town of your presence here. I will need time to do that."

"Thank you, Matayasu-sama."

Magistrate Matayasu bowed to them, if reluctantly, and they were dismissed, and the door panel was opened to lead into the courtyard, and across, where they were shown to their quarters. When they explained their preferences, Danny was given his own room, and Georgie and Geoffrey given a larger one, with a receiving room between them. Kiso would sleep in the servant's quarters.

"Can you send for the doctor? Kiso-san is wounded."

"I do not know if he will be available now, but I will do so." Maybe the attendant was just confused as to why they were hiring a doctor for their own attendant, but he scampered off.

"Are you all right?" Danny said, carrying his bag and his swords.

"Yes. Thank you, Danny. Are you going to rest?"

Danny nodded, and excused himself, leaving the couple alone with their daughter.

"So." Geoffrey sighed with relief and exhaustion, and looked around. They had the four walls made of wood and paper, a lamp, bed mats, a small box as a cabinet and a table low enough for people sitting on the floor. "Here we are." He looked up at the ceiling – spotless, but unadorned.

Georgie hugged him, burying her head in his chest. Alison followed suit, perhaps not knowing the reason, and clung onto his leg. "You're such a good husband. And father."

"I would hope so."

When she looked up, she had tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Geoffrey."

"Anything for you," he said, wiping one of her tears away. "And it seems I really do mean _anything_."

* * *

They pulled their sleeping mats together. Alison had one for herself, but now she slept between them, and they were surprised how comfortable the floor could be with the right mattress and sheer exhaustion.

A long nap and perhaps the best hot bath he had ever taken later, Geoffrey Darcy was feeling much better. The Japanese were truly wonderful about bathing, and brilliantly heated the tub from beneath with a fire so that it stayed hot instead of being poured on him and then quickly turning cold. The only downside was they were very economical about it, and he had to bathe with Danny Maddox.

"You should shave," Danny said. He had not shaved his head, but he had removed his side whiskers.

"Why? I'll still be a hairy barbarian. I've no pretensions of being otherwise." He added, "If I'm going to walk around in a bathrobe and slippers, I have to do something to maintain my British dignity."

Danny chuckled. It was the first time he'd done so since the attack, which he seemed to take harder than the rest of them. Geoffrey didn't say anything, lacking in advice about how to kill someone. Geoffrey had no regrets – he'd done what he had to, to protect his family, as he was supposed to do. That it had been so gruesome was because he let them head into danger, and that was his failing. "All of you – your side of the family. The Bingleys and the Maddoxes. You are all insane." The heat was making him giddy, and he splashed Danny. "I'm being boiled in a Japanese stew in the middle of nowhere because you are all lunatics."

"It does feel good."

"Oh, G-d yes. As long as they don't start throwing potatoes in or something."

"I don't think we'll see potatoes for a very long time."

"What I want to see is _meat_."

Danny sighed. "Uncle Maddox did warn us about that."

"He tried. But they have cattle – I saw from the road."

"They don't eat them. A Buddhist thing."

"They eat fish."

"It has something to do with four-legged creatures. Hell, I don't know. All I know how to do is fight, and I can't even do that very well."

"You fought well," Geoffrey said, "but to kill – for that, you need a reason. You need a paternal instinct – that or you're just a madman. And not the endearing sort of madman." He threw up his hands. "But what do I know? Until this trip I was just an English gentleman."

"And now?"

"I'm ... an English gentleman in need of a spine, when it comes to Georgiana."

Danny laughed. "So what do we do now?"

"Speak to this doctor - but I believe the first order of business is to spook the natives."

* * *

"Do you really think this is a good idea?"

Geoffrey retied his obi. "I have a gun and you have a sword, and the shōgun's law protects us. We'll be fine." He added, "Where's the other one?"

Danny frowned. "I'm not a samurai. I don't have the right."

Unwilling to argue with him, Geoffrey turned to his wife. "You'll stay with Alison?"

"Don't get into too much trouble. That's my job."

He grinned and kissed her, then slid the door open.

"O-gaijin-san!"

He and Danny stopped as the attendant appeared in front of them, and bowed. "I'm honored," Geoffrey said, "but my name is Geoffrey-san. And this is Danny-san."

"Jeffrey-san, it is most unwise – "

"I have no intention of staying inside this house until we depart. It may be weeks." He was taking too much pleasure in being so much taller than everyone else, but it had its advantages. "Excuse us."

"Sir!"

He ignored him, and stepped through the curtain, out into the sunlight. Danny put on his ronin hat, but Geoffrey wanted to enjoy the light. As he predicted, the townsfolk were finding reasons to have gathered outside the magistrate's office, but now that he and Danny made their appearance, strutting so confidently, they all backed away like frightened children. When he stepped left, they ducked back. When he stepped right, the others ducked back.

Danny waited back under the awning as Geoffrey crossed the street and started heading down the road, letting it appear like he didn't know they were creeping up behind him. Very suddenly he turned around. "Boo!"

They ran – really ran - into various hiding places.

"You think I'm a hairy monster," he said with a laugh, "but I'm just like you. Except there are less of me!" He looked down, and one of the children had dared to approach him. It was a boy with the top of his head shaven like a monastic tonsure and the back tied up in a little bun. "What is it, little boy?"

The boy said, "My grandfather said you were tengu!"

"Danny, what's a tengu?"

"I think it's some kind of demon," Danny said, stepping into the light.

Geoffrey looked back down at the boy. "What do demons look like?"

"They – have big noses. And wings!"

"I suppose my nose is large, in comparison to yours – but that's because you're a little boy. And I don't have any wings." He turned around to prove it. "So with all respect, your grandfather must be wrong."

"He said demons are terrible warriors. No one can defeat them." The boy seemed more interested in continuing the conversation than being frightened.

"Then he must be referring to my wife, and not me." He chuckled, and some of the men chuckled with him.

"Hey!"

"Danny-san has to say that, because he is her cousin. But no one can defeat her. Certainly not me. So I'm not a demon – just a big, hairy barbarian."

"You forgot _stupid_ in your description of barbarians," Danny said, and now the laughter was directed at Geoffrey.

"Oi, kid, if you want to do me a favor, can you show me where I can get a drink?"

The boy pointed. "The teahouse is just down the road."

"Thanks, kid. I'll owe you a favor." He started walking in that direction, but the boy tugged on his kimono. He was a brave one. "What is it?"

"You're really tall!"

"What is it? You want a ride?" he picked up the boy quite easily, and there was a gasp from the villagers, until he simply set him down on his shoulders. "Fair enough. Let's go, kid."

There were half a dozen more tugs by tiny hands on his kimono by the time they reached the teahouse. The children swarmed around him so he could barely move, to his and Danny's amusement. "One at a time!"

"Oi, gaijin-san, does he do this with everyone?"

"When he wants to make a fool of himself, yes," Danny said to the man next to him as they watched from a distance.

The ice was officially broken.

* * *

Alison Darcy waited until her mother's back was turned, then set out on her quest to find out exactly what was breakable in the new room and how she could go about doing it. First she fumbled with the wooden tray, but it was tough, so she pushed it against the wall, which tore. Success!

"Alison!" Georgie put the sword she had been cleaning away and turned around to see the hole her daughter had made in the paper doorway. "What did you do? No, don't make the cry face. It won't work!" She stood and slid the door open, in time to quickly bow to Kiso and another man she didn't recognize. "Excuse me."

They bowed back. "Jorgi-san," Kiso said, "this is Ogata Kōan."

There was more bowing. "Please, come this way," she said, and ushered them into the reception room, dragging Alison along with her. "Please, sit, Ogata-sama, Kiso-san. Are you feeling better?"

"Much better, Jorgi-san. Domo Arigato. I will bring tea." He crawled his way out, leaving her with the doctor.

Dr. Ogata was young, perhaps younger than her, with his hair cropped short to indicate his profession. Despite his age, he had a look of wisdom about him, as if he had spent his hours in study and not in play. "I understand you have come to see me."

"Hai. Let me get the book." She bowed and reached through their things for it, then set it between them, pushing it closer to him. "This is a book of anatomy. It is a gift to your country from ours, and the shōgun recommended I bring it to you, on account of the academy being closed in Edo."

He smiled. "I am honored." He gently opened the book to a random drawing of the human body, illustrating the veins. "It is not in Dutch."

"It is in English. We are not Dutch."

"Oh, but I see! You have written in the kanji for me! I am so grateful. May I make a copy?"

"The copy is yours, Ogata-sama."

He was overwhelmed. "I am so honored. I have no means to repay you for this unexpected honor."

"We have studied the book ourselves, and intend to explain it to you. You can repay us by taking a long time to understand it." To his look, she answered, "It is very hard to come up with a reason for a foreigner to be in Japan."

It took him a moment. "I see. But why here?"

"That was the shōgun's decision. He clearly thinks highly of you."

"You would rather be here? Than in your country?"

"For the time being, yes." She added, "I am looking for someone."

"Japanese?"

She nodded, grabbing Alison's obi so she didn't escape again. "I met him when he came to England, my country, when I was a little girl. I've not seen him since."

"Who is this man?"

She could not say it easily. "He was my sensei."

She let the doctor piece it together. "It is very hard, for Japanese to come and go. We are forbidden to leave the country without permission. But you know this, so you came here. What makes you think he is in Bizen?"

"I have no idea where he is, but you are in Bizen, so here we are. I have an aunt and uncle who are searching for him while I wait."

He nodded. "This is a great honor. It is so hard for us to get material like this. I will gladly aid you in any way I can."

"I am as grateful as you are, I assure you."

* * *

"I don't think I can do it," Geoffrey said.

"Oi, O-gaijin-sama, the smallest baby can drink that much!"

"You – I'm not saying I can't drink," he said, clinking the glazed bottle of sake against the other empty ones. "Because I can ... forget ... Japanese ... brandy. Danny, help me."

"You can drink."

"Hai, but not rice wine. Wine! From rice!" He took another sip from the dish, but choked on it. "Lemme – alone," he said, halfway in Japanese and halfway in English.

"He needs some tea," Danny said, and the manager bowed and instantly brought them tea. Seeing he was giving up, the crowd dissipated, and returned to their own bottles.

"What I would give for some grapes!" Geoffrey said in English. "I would crush them with my own feet. Even though they're sore."

"You're drunk."

"You should relax."

"You shouldn't be drunk."

Geoffrey took a healthy gulp of tea. "Strong." He held it up for the cup to be refilled. He lowered his voice, even though he didn't have to, because he wasn't speaking their language. "I'm just showing them I'm human. Animals don't get drunk."

"They do when they have three bottles of sake."

"This is nothing, I assure you." He was talking more coherently as they were less interested in him; Danny realized some of it had been for show.

"O-Gaijin-sama," said one of the patrons, sitting down across from him. "Do you gamble?"

"My name is Geoffrey."

"Jeffrey-san, do you gamble?"

"Not very much. Why, is there gambling here? I thought it was illegal."

"Sa, illegal! What the samurai don't know, you don't tell them. And they do know, because they gamble! They're the ones with their faces covered."

"Really?"

"They come down from the castle town at night, to gamble and drink. Sometimes they don't even wear their swords. A merchant, a lowlife – he can drink himself to oblivion, but a samurai?" He puffed out his chest. "Never."

"But all the time."

"Hai."

Geoffrey smiled. "What is your name?"

"Ryozo."

"Ryozo-san, this is my cousin, Dani-san," Geoffrey said, and they bowed to each other. "So what do you do? Are you a merchant?"

"I am a potter. Barely better than a merchant."

"But you're allowed to drink."

"Hai."

"And gamble."

"Hai. More than I should."

Geoffrey nodded. "Why did you ask me? Did you want to take me gambling?"

"There is some action tonight, if you wanted to go. But if you're trying to remain respectable, I don't recommend it. And you'll get in the middle of things."

Geoffrey repeated the word. "Things?"

"If you lose big you'll be in debt with Boss Tanaka. He would try to take advantage of you."

"Who is Boss Tanaka?" Danny asked.

"And why would he want to take advantage of me? I'm lower than dirt as a gaijin," Geoffrey said.

"Yes, but you have a gun. If you were in debt to him..."

"You didn't answer his question," Geoffrey said. "Who is Boss Tanaka? Another magistrate?"

"No – he was a merchant once, I think. He runs a gang. They used to fight over this town with another gang, the Inegari gang, but they defeated them. Since then, he's taken over everything."

Geoffrey finished his tea, indicating for more. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't want him to get a gun. That would make things worse than they already are!"

Geoffrey and Danny exchanged glances.

"Why doesn't the magistrate do something, if he's running illegal gambling?" And worse, Geoffrey had to assume.

"Sa, what can the magistrate do? He's just one man."

"And the government is so helpless, he couldn't report to anyone?"

"O-Matayasu-sama reports to the daimyo, and the daimyo doesn't care, as long as the land tax comes in to feed him and his samurai. Tanaka isn't stupid enough to interrupt that."

"I understand," Geoffrey said. "Thank you – I won't be gambling tonight. In fact, I should retire, and get back to my wife and daughter."

He rose, and bowed an exaggerated bow to Ryozo, and the manager. Danny paid their tab, and they were off. The others were so noisy and distracted that they were able to slip out alone. Night had fallen and the cold autumn air made Geoffrey slip his hands into the pockets of his sleeves.

"Good thing none of us gamble," Danny said.

"Yes." Geoffrey walked very slowly, partially because of his mild inebriation and partially because of his still-sore feet. "Though I don't think we'll be avoiding this Boss Tanaka entirely."

"Geoffrey, Brian said not to get in trouble."

"I've no intention of getting in trouble," he said. "If it finds me, so be it."

...Next Chapter - Trouble Immediately Finds Geoffrey

* * *

Notes for this chapter:

- Dr. Ogata (August 13, 1810 - July 25, 1863) is a real historical figure. He was a scholar of medicine via Dutch Studies and later founded Osaka University and was the wrote the first Pathology manual in Japanese. I may have his first and last name mixed up. Someone tell me if I did.

- A very formal way to refer to someone in the Edo Period was "O-Who You Are-sama." So when they call Geoffrey "O-Gaijin-sama" they are essentially calling him, "Mr. Foreigner" in a very formal manner.

* * *


	20. Trouble Immediately Finds Geoffrey

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Author's Note: Thank you for all of your reviews! It was a real load off my mind.

* * *

Chapter 20 - Trouble Immediately Finds Geoffrey

To some disappointment, Geoffrey found his wife already asleep when he returned, with a female servant watching over Alison. He introduced himself to their assigned maid, and bade her goodnight. He wasn't in the mood to sleep, but the peaceful look on Georgie's face was too hard for him to bring himself to disturb. Sighing, he turned over and closed his eyes.

Morning came early enough. He woke with a groan to wonder briefly why he was staring at a wooden wall and the floor mat, then remembered.

"You're up."

He tried to put the pillow over his face to block out the light and the noise, but it was too small.

"Danny said you were drunk."

"It was – strategic." He turned over, so he could see Georgie in the corner, sewing something. "They – I got them to like me. I think."

"You can certainly be charming when you want to be."

"And I could do without the results," he said, pulling the blanket over his head to provide some darkness and possible relief. He heard Georgie giggle, but she didn't bother him any further as he lay still, waiting for his headache to fade.

Finally his stomach was grumbling enough to get him out of bed. After attending to himself, he found Georgie through the other door (which was torn for some reason), sitting on the edge of the platform with her needle and what looked like a pair of Japanese pants, though not nearly as long. The courtyard was made of sand, and Alison was having a ball in it. "Papa!"

"Alison," he said, leaning over to kiss her before sitting down. "Tea? And some rice?" was all he had to say, and the maid bowed and disappeared into another room across from them. "What are you making?"

"Trousers."

"That I can see."

"For _me_," she said. "I can't fight in a kimono. Well, not easily, and without exposing my legs – and I know you wouldn't want that."

"I would not." They did look awfully short, though. "So you're intending to fight someone?"

"It may come up."

He just shook his head. "Why is there a hole in our door?"

"Ask Alison."

Geoffrey resisted further comment. "Where's Danny?"

"He wanted some time to himself. Oh, and I should tell you the doctor is due soon."

"The one you were supposed to meet last night?"

"I did meet him last night. He's very nice." Georgie cut the end of the thread with her teeth and held up the modified trousers, once a long-flowing hakama, for inspection. "I would stay out of the way of the magistrate."

"Whatever it was, Frederick did it. Oh, I suppose I can't use that excuse here, can I?"

"You'll have to think of a new one. And leave Danny alone." She turned to the male kimono and coat that went with it. "Kiso is healing, but I didn't want to ask him to do anything stressful, so I had one of the magistrate's attendants send a correspondence to the runner. He says it should take a week, maybe two to get to Edo, assuring them that we are in good health."

He nodded. "What's this about the magistrate, then?"

"While I was speaking to the attendant, some guests arrived, and I was shuttled out. I hid behind one of those very poor paper barriers and listened. It seemed a businessman named Tanaka and two of his attendants had come to inquire after the rumor that Matayasu-san was holding refugee foreigners. This Mr. Tanaka seemed disappointed that the magistrate was actually doing it legally."

"_Boss_ Tanaka," Geoffrey said. "He runs a gang that's extorting the townsfolk for money. And, likely, the magistrate. I was told of him last night. His men defeated their rival gang a short while ago, and now they control everything."

"Perhaps that was why Tanaka demanded money for our protection."

"How much?"

"1 ryo a day, each. So, four."

Geoffrey switched to English. "It's not that we can't pay him. It's that we shouldn't give in to a criminal."

"And you were the one who promised not to get into trouble."

"I recall you making the same promise," he said with a grin. "We need time to assess the situation. I'll pay the magistrate, if he asks."

"Perhaps that is wise," Georgie said. "Alison! Must you get every bit of sand in your hair?"

Alison just smiled back up at her.

* * *

Danny was back from his walk just in time for the arrival of Dr. Ogata, and they were all properly introduced.

"Geoffrey is really the one who knows everything," Georgie said. The doctor was in awe of the book, and had many questions for Geoffrey. Seeing her husband would be tied up for a while, she kissed him goodbye. "Will you take care of Alison?"

"Where are you going?"

"I'll think of something." She added, "I'll try to stay out of trouble."

"Do at least _try_."

Back in their bedroom, she changed into her outfit of male attire. With a scarf and hat on, and the sword over her shoulder, she might look convincingly male from afar, and she slipped out the back, even though it required jumping a fence.

A lush panorama awaited her. She knew the castle town where the daimyo and his samurai lived was somewhere in the distance, but all she could see was mountains and farmland. It was alien and familiar at the same time. She found herself jumping over the deeper parts of the thicket, especially with her open sandals, even if they were on stilts. She did not let herself stray far, going down into the valley and coming up again to circle around the town, but never entering it properly. Occasionally she would see someone passing by with a bundle, but they always kept going and she never stopped them. She was usually moving too fast.

She stopped for breath on a stone bench. It took her a moment to realize it was part of a staircase, carved into the mountainside. Heading up, she saw dozens and dozens of stone slabs – gravestones so neatly packed together, populated the hill. Were they really that small, or did the Japanese truly burn their dead?

"Are you looking for something?"

She turned and looked up at the man with the shaven head. He could only be the temple priest. "Not in particular, Jushoku-san." She added, "This is a very peaceful place."

"I hope it is," he replied. "It has seen a lot of expansion. Too much, truly."

She looked in the direction he seemed to be looking, at the newer stones, with less weathering. Many were unmarked. "Was there a famine?"

"No, those are the remains of a gang that used to run this town."

She stepped up to the platform next to him. "May I ask who killed them?"

"Another gang. There was a terrible war between Boss Tanaka and Boss Inegari. Tanaka-san won."

There had to be at least thirty of them. "I see." She looked inside. The shrine itself was very small, and only of bare essentials – an altar, a statue of the Buddha, and various incense. There were doors to the side, probably to house the priest. "I'm not disturbing you?"

"No, of course not. This is a public place."

It did not seem very public. It was small and intimate, like a chapel, without the pews, and the god on the wall looked different. She felt compelled to take off her hat. When she looked up, and to her surprise, she did not find a bare ceiling. Hundreds and hundreds of wooden beads on strings hung down from the beams from hooks. "What are these?"

"Oh, you didn't know? This shrine is famous, in its own way. I was honored to be given a position here," he explained. "Those are all discarded or lost prayer beads. Some I suppose are relics now, but we'll never know which ones."

There must have been thousands of them. "You are not buried with your beads?"

"Normally, we are, but sometimes that does not happen for one reason or another. If his disciples think he might become a saint, a famous monk might have his items saved as relics. Then they might be forgotten over time. The Buddha lived his mortal life thousands of years ago, and the first priest came to Japan shortly after the beginning of our recorded history." He was clearly proud of the temple's collection. "None of these are that old, or they would not have survived. There are fires, storms – but some are at least a few hundred years old. You can tell from the way the bugs have gotten into the wood." He reached up and touched one. "They are sent here when they are found without knowledge of the owner, as well, so that he may reclaim it – though none have in my lifetime. There are beads here from everywhere in Japan."

Georgie looked up, and focused on a set of beads with a red tail of string. Without thinking, she pulled it down. "What is this?"

"It's – just another _Juzu_. A traveler left it here years ago."

"Can you tell me where it's from?" She wrapped it around her wrist.

"Oh, no – just that I don't recognize it as a sect I know. But beads come in all shapes and sizes. Do you have them in Holland?"

"England. I'm from England," she said. "And we do, but it's very uncommon now. Not very fashionable."

"But you were taught how to wrap them – around your wrist."

"No," she said, staring at the wooden beads. "I suppose you don't part with them, do you?"

"No, not unless ..." He trailed off, looking at her hand. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt them to go back into use."

"I must confess I am not a Buddhist."

"Well... either way." He bowed. "Let me bring you some refreshment."

Feeling a little guilty about badgering this priest into giving his relics away, especially to a gaijin like herself, she loitered uncomfortably before stepping out in the other direction. There was someone else there, laying on a bed mat, and from his topknot, he was not a monk. "Oh! So sorry, please excuse – "

"Oi," he squinted and sat up. "It's all right. You didn't know I was here." He bowed. "Excuse me if I don't sit up."

"No, no, there's no need – "

"Are you a guy or a girl?" He chuckled. "What an impolite thing to say – " But he broke down into a fit of coughing, and she looked around. There was a pitcher of something, and she knelt in front of him and poured some cold tea for him to drink. "Thank you." He wiped his mouth, trying to hide it, but there were bloodstains on his kimono so dark that even the blue couldn't hide it.

"I'm a woman," she said. She looked around. There was nothing else in the room, aside from his mattress – and a stand for his two swords. Samurai. "I'm sorry to have trespassed – "

"People who know me don't know I'm here, so why should you?" he said. "But now I get to see a foreigner again."

"They've been here before?"

"No – in Edo." He coughed again, but just a little. "But that was a long time ago, and they were not dressed like you. And they didn't speak Japanese. I saw their caravan."

"I did ride in one of those terrible things, on my way here."

"It's better than walking." He took more of the tea, which she poured for him. "Thank you. I can't repay you. And I should, after you've seen me here."

"I don't even know you, so it doesn't matter." _But why would a castle-town samurai come to some shrine for healing? There was nothing that could be offered here, except peace. Unless he wasn't from the castle town._ "I didn't know there were samurai here."

"Just me," he said. Then he laughed. "You must be really new, to not know who I am."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"There's only one yojimbo in Imbe – and he works for Boss Tanaka," he said. "Nothing more than a hired goon." He finished his tea, but refused a refill. "Oi! Priest! I thought you'd abandoned us."

Georgie turned, her face red, at being discovered by the priest, who was standing in the doorway. "Are you feeling better? You shouldn't be sitting up if you're not."

"Then I am." The yojimbo looked up at Georgie. "You're the first person I've spoken to in three days, other than the priest. But I won't keep you – unless you brought sake."

"No sake!" the priest said.

"Tanaka doesn't know you're sick," Georgie stated.

"He knows, but not how bad. Do me a favor, will you? From one outcast to another?"

She bowed. "I won't tell him. I doubt he has anything to say to a gaijin's wife, anyway."

"If you approach him dressed like that, maybe he might."

Georgie bowed, and the yojimbo returned it before she left the room. "I'm so sorry – "

"He was very lonely," the priest said, stepping out with her, "but I wouldn't get too close to him, if you plan on crossing Boss Tanaka. Yojimbo-sensei is responsible for most of those graves."

She looked over his shoulder, at the pale and weakened samurai, and said only, "I see."

* * *

Georgie arrived home in time to see her husband stand before the magistrate, who was looking especially irritated at his guest. "Georgie," Geoffrey said. "You're here."

"Geoffrey. Magistrate-sama."

"It seems we are remiss in compensating the official for our expensive stay," Geoffrey said.

"Really? I thought we paid for the week."

"You are expensive!" the magistrate shouted. "The doctor came for your servant!"

"He wasn't paid."

"Do you know what I am going through for you?"

Georgie turned to Geoffrey and calmly said, "And what is our current debt?"

"Eight ryo."

"For the week?"

"For the day."

"That seems high."

"I have to protect you, or the shōgun will have my head," said the magistrate. "Don't you think I have other problems in this rundown shit-hole than a gaijin family?"

"It still seems high," Georgie repeated. "It seems like it should be more like four."

Geoffrey crossed his arms. "Four ryo does seem like a fairer price for our protection."

The magistrate chewed on the end of his pipe. "Four. And then we'll see."

Geoffrey reached into his sleeve and produced the coins, which he set down between them. "O-Magistrate-sama," he bowed, and they returned to their own quarters. Inside, dinner was waiting for them, along with Danny, who was unsuccessfully trying to teach Alison how to use chopsticks. Unfortunately she found her tray a better drum than a container for food. "Geoffrey. Georgie." They sat down, and Georgie removed her sword and set it down beside her. "How did it go?"

"He agreed on a price of four ryo."

"That's still very expensive. Per day?"

"It's extortion and he knows it," Georgie said. "Not that he has any say in the matter, it seems. I'm more annoyed that he tried to get some for himself from it, aside from what he's making for housing us."

"Nonetheless, we'd have to send to Edo for more money if we wanted to say here more than a few weeks," Geoffrey said.

"Should we talk with Boss Tanaka ourselves?" Danny asked.

"No, it's not come to that. Not without knowing more about his gang. When Kiso gets up tonight, I'll send him out to find out more about them."

"I know they have a samurai. A ronin they hired. They told me as soon as I asked in town. They said not to get in his way."

"I met him," Georgie said, and both men stared at her. "By chance it happened. He's staying at the shrine to hide that he's ill with consumption."

"They say he killed thirty men!"

"That may be an exaggeration," Geoffrey suggested.

"And he might not have been as ill. It was nearly a year ago," she said. "He's nearly debilitated. And very polite. Starved for company."

"Really? How long did you speak with him?"

Georgie grinned. "I would say not to let it knot your cravat, but you're not wearing one." She added in English, "Darling."

"He could be dangerous."

"Geoffrey, he's dying of consumption. And he had no reason to kill me." She whispered to Danny, "He's just being jealous."

"I heard that! And I am not!"

Both of them looked down at their food, because it was better than meeting his stare. It might have caused them to break out into fits of laughter.

...Next Chapter - The Angry Tengu

* * *

Notes for this chapter:

- The ending "-sensei" is used a couple different ways in this story. Technically it means "Master" but it also means expert in something, like a doctor. Another way to refer to Dr. Ogata is Ogata-sensei. Priests can also be called "sensei."

* * *


	21. The Angry Tengu

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 21 - The Angry Tengu

The Darcys made an outing the next day to the market, as the doctor was busy and Alison had not yet been out. She rode on her mother's back, and Geoffrey carried both the gun and Georgie's sword for her. The only one not pleased with these arrangements was Alison, who would clearly have preferred to be on her own two feet than helplessly attached to her mother, but at least she ceased her major attempts at argument by the time they reached the center of activity.

Most of the activity, of course, paused briefly as they approached, only to begin again while they remained the center of people's attention. Georgie did well ignoring the children's taunts at her demon hair. "I don't see you defending me."

"Your hair is somewhat demon ... -ically beautiful," he said. She glared at him, but he only shrugged. "It is."

They stopped in several shops, where the locals were only too eager to serve them (and get a chance to stare at them up-close). "Still no meat," Geoffrey grumbled.

"You might have to buy the cow yourself," she replied, looking over the unfamiliar racks of spices of dried items that were either medicinal or edible. Hopefully it was at least one of the two. "What do these do, please?"

The storekeeper's wife was happy to very politely assist her, showing her each item and explaining its uses, whether it was to preserve food or to cure a cough. Feeling somewhat guilty that she had taken up so much of this lady's time, Georgie bought some powder that could be used as a sleep aid. "You never know. You might start snoring."

"Or you might," he said, and paid.

They bought Alison a doll made of cloth and straw tied up quite ingeniously, but only after the shopkeeper assured them it was very safe to chew on or possibly swallow (though he did look quite mystified as to why they kept asking that). What really interested Alison was the other children, and she begged enough that Georgie finally set her down outside the fabric shop. "Be careful. And stay in Mama's sight. Promise?"

Alison nodded, then ran to talk to the other children. Their Japanese was too fast for her, but they were throwing a ball around and that much she understood.

"Oi, look at the little tengu!"

"At least she's not as hairy as the others!"

Geoffrey, who was in the store and facing the wrong direction, didn't hear it. Georgie did. Two men were standing at the entrance to a tavern, their kimonos disheveled, and quite obviously drunk, and they were pointing at her daughter. The more rational side of her said to be quiet, or get Geoffrey. After all, they weren't bothering Alison, who was ignorant of them. _Remember what you promised... We are a spectacle here_.

"Oi, kid! Gaijin-chan, we want to talk to you!" shouted one of the men. "You, boy, bring her over here. I'll give you a 5 bu!"

The boy didn't make it fast enough, no matter how much he wanted his money. Georgie appeared between the drunkards and the children, blocking any coming or going. "Please," she said with a bow, "my daughter is not a spectacle."

"Have you seen her?" the one on the left said. "Well, at least I know where she gets it."

"Is your husband blind," said the other, "or did you have to trick him into marrying a demon?"

_I'll show you a demon_. She stepped down hard on his foot with her geta. He was only wearing straw sandals, so she could hear bones crunching. "Excuse me." When the other came after her, she elbowed him in the face, knocking him back over the ledge and onto the tavern porch. "Excuse me again. So sorry. My foreigner customs must confuse you."

"Georgiana Darcy!" Geoffrey shouted, finally hearing the clamor.

"So there you are," she said, but did back away from the two men. "Get Alison. We should go."

As he went to collect their daughter, another man walked out of the tavern. He was dressed like the drunkards, but he wasn't drunk, and he had a long sword. "Oi, what's this?" Some of the children pointed at Georgie, and some pointed at the two men, one of whom was howling and holding his foot and the other of which was lying on the ground, unconscious. "What the hell did you do?"

"I think it should be obvious," she said.

"Georgie," Geoffrey pleaded. "Sir, we apologize. There was a misunderstanding – "

"You will apologize!"

"I apologize for beating up your drunken men who were leering at me and calling my husband a cripple without foundation," she said. "So sorry."

He drew his sword, but she ducked down, and slid in close enough to kick his forearm, knocking the blade out of it and into the wood of the porch. She was the first to it, and held his own blade up against him. "I really am sorry that I have to keep doing this."

"Sir," Geoffrey said, "you will apologize for attacking my wife." Had she not been able to block it, it might have killed her.

"Do you know who I am?" he shouted back, but staying at sword's length from her.

"A bad swordsman," she replied. "I'll take your cowardice as its own apology." With that, she flipped his sword upside down and stabbed the ground between him, missing his kimono by maybe an inch. While he cowered, the Darcys attempted their escape.

Someone had rung a bell, not that Imbe had any fighting force (legal, that was) to see to the incident. What the town did have was three drunken idiots beaten up by the gaijin's wife, and everyone wanted to see it, but when the Darcys left, the crowd gave them a rather wide berth.

* * *

"I was hoping to avoid disaster for at least a few days," Geoffrey said. They had only a minute to themselves before the magistrate burst unannounced into their quarters, looked briefly at the broken door from Alison's antics, and back at them with a flushed face.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, you idiot barbarians?" he fumed. "Punching Tanaka's men? Stealing the sword of one of the captains?"

"We gave it back."

Geoffrey sighed; his wife would never relent and neither would the magistrate. "It was a simple misunderstanding – "

"You misunderstanding foreigners, never understand anything! You will leave here at once! If I ever see you again – "

"So sorry, but we can't," Georgie said. "Shogun's orders."

"They'll kill me if I protect you. I'm not going to die for the shogun."

"Some samurai you are," Georgie said.

"Please give us a minute to discuss this." Geoffrey bowed. "Please, O-Magistrate-sama, I beg of you."

He huffed, but he did leave them, slamming the already-broken door on the way out.

"Mama fight!" Alison picked up a chopstick. "Fight him!" she pointed in the magistrate's direction.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," Georgie replied.

Geoffrey took a moment to settle his voice. "Georgie, we might actually have to leave."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"And it happened sooner. I'm not leaving Alison to the wolves here," he said. "It's not safe."

"You didn't hear what they said to me! About our daughter! And about you! If you'd been facing the right way – "

"It doesn't matter what was said."

"You wouldn't feel that way if you heard it," she said. "If you were _capable_. I'm Geoffrey Darcy, and if you stand to my right, you can get away with anything!"

"_Georgie_." He indicated for the terrified maid to take Alison into the next room. Danny Maddox poked his head in, clueless as to the situation, but quickly stepped back out.

"Look at me. I'm Geoffrey Darcy, and I came all the way to Japan just to run at the first sign of danger."

"It wasn't the first sign. It was just the avoidable kind – "

"I'm Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire, and I won't defend my family – "

"I will defend my family by getting you out of here, _whether you like it or not."_ It was not shouted, though he could have shouted. He didn't need to shout. His father never shouted when he was angry and the moment seized him. "This isn't a game or training with crazy Uncle Brian. This is your life and mine and Danny's and _our daughter's_. What kind of mother are you?"

He should have seen it coming, for so many reasons, despite his limited ability to track things in his peripheral vision. He should have predicted it. Every fiber in his being should have cried out for him to silence himself, or at the very least duck, but he didn't, and he got smacked hard enough to spin him again, and he went face-first to the floor, knocking over the tea set.

"_Geoffrey_!" It was Georgie's voice, but differently tuned, and he could hear it, even if he couldn't see her. All he saw was a blur in front of him as he was helped up. "I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to – Geoffrey!" She grabbed him and dug her hands into his kimono, leaning her head against his, but he couldn't see that far. He was trying to concentrate, but the world was slipping away from him, circling around and around. He put his hands down on the floor to try and get his bearings. Down – down was where his hands were, unless they were touching the ceiling. He honestly was not sure. "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed. _Remember your breathing_. "I – need to sit."

"I know. I know."

"For a while."

"Do you want me to go? Do you want someone else to help you?"

He closed his eyes. _No_, he remembered. That made it worse. "No."

Her hands were so gentle as she helped him down, with his head on a cushion. She couldn't do anything about the light, so she removed her jacket and put it over his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't respond. Should he just say he was sorry as well? No, no time for that. "We need to leave."

"You can't."

"I'll manage."

"We don't have anywhere to go."

He put a hand on his head, as if that would stop all the spinning inside. "Violence should be the last resort," he said. "M-My father taught me that much. I should have told you ... what he taught me. What will they do? Get their samurai?"

"The yojimbo? He's at the temple." She paused. "We could head him off."

"How would that help?" came Danny's voice. He must have been somewhere in the room.

"We could pay him off," Geoffrey said. If he focused he could think, though he couldn't do much else. "He's only working for money."

"And he can't fight. He's too sick."

"It might be worth a try."

"Get Kiso. And then we'll ... attempt to straighten me up." The emphasis was on _attempt_.

* * *

They did not wait for the magistrate to return. They collected their things and were gone. Between Kiso and Danny, they were able to carry Geoffrey, who was unable to walk himself, and all of his weaponry. Georgie knew the way and carried Alison, so they made it in what she said was good time, even though it seemed like an eternity to him.

He could not focus on her quick explanations to the man with the shaved head. They fetched pillow after pillow, and helped him sit up against the wall of the little stone temple.

"Yojimbo-sensei will see you, Jeffrey-san," the priest said to him, and he opened his eyes. He could focus, as long as he didn't move. Not wanting to betray his disability, he didn't, and a man most obviously a samurai entered. He had on his two swords, but his topknot was in disorder and his head unshaven.

"Jeffrey-san," the samurai bowed.

"Excuse our introduction, yojimbo-sensei. I understand you work for Boss Tanaka."

"Yes."

"What is he paying you? Whatever it is, I'll double it."

"If I don't kill you, I will have to kill him." The yojimbo coughed, but collected himself, and refused the priest's offer of tea. Geoffrey did accept. "And the others."

"How many does he have?"

"Thirty. But you took out three. So it would be twenty-seven, maybe."

"My _wife_ took them out," he said, his voice with an edge to it. He could not see Georgie's expression, but he knew it wasn't happy. "I don't want you to kill them."

"No?"

"No. I'll double your pay for one night's work. When they come to tell you to kill us, wait a bit, then go back and say you did it."

"And then?"

"And then," he said, "I have a plan."

* * *

They slept in the temple, in the storage room. Kiso was a bit less suspicious, so he slept in one of the main rooms with the priest, but they had to hide. The men had shown up, and spoken to the yojimbo, and he did as Geoffrey told him. He'd just gone back to their camp, taking Danny with him. Geoffrey was against it, and Georgie was against it, but Danny wanted to contribute, and would not listen to the reason that they were too tired to give.

Alison hugged him. "Papa sick."

"Just a little."

"Make Papa feel better." She tightened her grip on his waist, laying beside him.

"You do know how to do that," he replied, and saw movement in the darkness. It was Georgie.

"I am sorry."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Will you hear me out?"

"I know your reasoning," he said, "and I'm tired. Please, let me sleep. Tomorrow is important."

"Geoffrey – "

"Georgie, please."

She sighed, and laid down on the mat next to him, but her hug was more anxious, as if she didn't cling to him, he would float away from her forever.

* * *

When he woke, she was already up. Her eyes were red, and she clearly had had little sleep. "How do you feel?"

"Can you help me sit up?"

She did. It was much easier than yesterday. "I'm better. Where is Danny?"

"With Kiso and the yojimbo, back at the magistrate's."

"Already?"

"Yes. They finished very early. They're just setting up now."

He tried to stand up, but faltered. Fortunately the priest had a staff handy for him, so he was able to at least stand, and move around a bit. Georgie carried Alison.

They did not speak the whole way. Even Alison somehow knew not to.

* * *

At the house of Tanaka-san, former samurai retainer turned thug, turned merchant, turned larger thug and gang leader, it was a slow morning for everyone. The temple sake the yojimbo brought back was a bit too good, and they all had their share. After all, it was blessed by the gods! It just was so powerful, some of them even fell asleep right on their benches, even the ones who were supposed to be woken for guard duty.

They woke, slowly and painfully, with headaches and a powerful daze. Most of them limped around as if struck for a while, accomplishing nothing. The sake dishes were strewn everywhere and no one picked them up.

"You idiots! You slept right through it!"

The captain, with a bandaged arm, picked his head up. "Slept through what, sir?"

Boss Tanaka held up a box. "The treasury is empty. That rotten ronin stole our money!"

The captain reached for his sword, only to find it wasn't there, just the scabbard. He raced to the armory, but the spears were gone, too. "Sir – "

Tanaka hit him with his fan, and it hurt especially hard. "Drunken idiot! Where are the weapons?"

"I – I don't know, sir."

"He couldn't have carried them all out," said another one of the captains. "We would have heard him! And what does he want with them, anyway?"

The captain straightened his kimono, and when he did, a piece of paper slipped out. Stupefied and also illiterate, he handed it to another captain, who read, "'Any former yakuza gangster wishing to abandon his profession and be paid 5 ryo for the honor of being allowed to leave town, please report to the magistrate's office!'"

"Matayasu! He was using the foreigners as bait. I never thought him clever enough to do this, but ..." Tanaka looked around. "What are you all staring at? Get weapons and get down there!"

"But, sir – there aren't any weapons."

"Use sticks! And cut down bamboo into spears! Don't you people know anything?"

Half an hour had passed before they had cobbled together some broken bamboo and lengths of wood to use as clubs, and in a sloppy parade they marched down the streets of Imbe. Merchants that were open suddenly closed their shops, but kept the windows open. People hid in alleys and in the taverns.

There were people who did not hide. Outside the magistrate's office, a gigantic pile of swords, knives, spears, and other weapons were tied together in a bundle around a wooden stake. In front of it was a bench with an open box filled with ryo coins. The brown-haired foreigner stood over it majestically with a walking stick. On one side was his wife, and on the other, the other red-haired man with glasses and a sword.

"Tanaka-san," the brown-haired gaijin said. "We've never been formally introduced. I am Jeffrey-san, and this is my wife, Jorgi-san, and my cousin, Dani-san."

"What do you think you're doing, barbarian?"

"Offering a cash reward for anyone here who wants to leave with their life." He raised a blank booklet. "All you have to do is make your mark, and you can have five ryo, and you can leave. Or you can stay and fight us, and the magistrate, and your yojimbo, and then answer to the daimyo about your actions." He looked around. "Anyone who wants to go can go. You keep your life and you get money for the road, as long as you never come back to Imbe. Find somewhere else to bully people – I don't care. As long as you leave."

"Oi! What makes you think we can't fight you? Do you think you have demonic powers?"

"Do you think we don't?" his wife answered. She drew her sword. "Or do you want to find out?"

She didn't lower her sword for the pause. Dani-san put his hand on his, but didn't draw it. He didn't need to.

The onslaught was noisy, not only because of the shouting and pushing but also because of the dropped weapons they left behind. "Bastards!" Tanaka shouted as they ran to sign the sheet. Attendants of the magistrate appeared to keep the crowds from rushing the box, and one-by-one, all thirty men made a mark or signed a symbol before running off down the road. Some attempted to pick up their weapons, but were only allowed to take their wooden ones. The whole process took maybe twenty minutes, and they were gone.

Boss Tanaka, now boss of no man but himself, stood there silently, in shock at the remains of his empire – a pile of sticks on the ground.

"I'm sorry, Tanaka-san," Jeffrey said. "The offer is closed to you. In fact, you owe us four ryo, but we'll let that pass if you leave."

He bowed his head, and began to walk in their direction, to go past them. At the last moment, he picked up a fallen club and swung it at the one next to his wife, who barely had time to block it with the hilt of her sword. "I used to be a fighter myself, you know!"

"We know," Geoffrey said, and nodded to his wife he'd struck, who removed a wooden dagger from her kimono and struck Tanaka's hand just over the thumb, causing him to drop his weapon in agony. As he dropped, she struck again, on his other hand, decimating the other thumb.

"You used to be a fighter," Jeffrey said. "Now you'll never hold a sword again. Go!"

Tanaka did not need to be told another time. They did not follow him as he slunk down the road, passing the sign, and out of Imbe forever.

* * *

"One koku? Per household?"

"Per _person_."

"That can't be right."

As Geoffrey carefully recounted the money laid out before him, the magistrate looked on with a skeptical eye. "How do you know the census is exact?"

"If the law has been followed, it should be," Geoffrey said. "After all, aren't you supposed to make sure all new births are registered with the temple?"

The priest nodded. The magistrate said nothing, and the money was counted again in front of all the onlookers – Georgiana, Danny, Kosi, the yojimbo, and most importantly, the rice merchant.

"It will take me some time to get all that many kokus of rice," he said. "Half now, and half when I deliver. It should be two, maybe three weeks."

"Fine," Geoffrey said. "In my country, we shake on a deal." And they did, after the contract was signed. Every man, woman, and child would get a koku (_a year's worth_) of rice, paid for with the money from Tanaka's safe – money that had been stolen from them over the years by various gangs and finally, him. Since it was gifted income and not rice they produced, it would not be taxed, because it did not come from their land, and the daimyo would not take away most of it for himself. There was money left over even beyond that, to be disseminated slowly, so as not to cause inflation.

They paid the rice merchant and bid him warm goodbyes, trying to ignore the crowd outside the door that was perpetually there, cheering their every appearance. The magistrate said it gave him a headache.

"You're spoiling the farmers," he said. "Some of them have never had white rice in their lives. They'll be lazy and fat."

"They'll work better with full stomachs than with empty ones," Geoffrey said.

"You're so confident. What do you know of farmers?"

He casually sipped his tea. "My father is a daimyo."

The magistrate took him a good deal more seriously after _that_. He made Geoffrey acting Okappiki, or constable, and gave him a jutte weapon to defend himself and show his status. It was a dubious, demanding honor, but Geoffrey accepted. Danny the magistrate "adopted," – giving him samurai status and allowing him to wear two swords, at least within their realm.

As for Georgie, she didn't seem to want beautiful kimonos or more servants. She was harder to talk to than usual, so the magistrate decided to leave well enough alone.

"Danny," Geoffrey said in the courtyard, "I know you're a famous samurai now, but I need you to baby-sit Alison for the night."

"What about the maid?"

"Oh, as if you have something better to do."

Danny scowled, but he did take Alison.

Geoffrey removed his sandals and stepped up to the platform, kneeling to open the repaired door to their sleeping quarters. Georgie sat alone, in a meditative stance, even though he knew she wasn't meditating. Her sword – Mugen's sword – was on the floor in front of her.

"Georgie."

She looked down at the mat, and sniffled. He knelt down across from her, though he couldn't see her eyes.

"I think I understand why I was so angry."

"Because I hit you."

"Well, that added to it." He sighed, and took her hands into his. Still she couldn't bring herself to look at him. And why should she? He'd barely spoken to her in days. "You are my ferocious warrior woman of a wife and I love you for it, but I made a promise to everyone – including G-d and including you – that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe on this journey. To put it plainly, you make it impossible for me to do that." This had sounded so much better in his head. "There has to be a balance."

"You can't tell me when to use my instincts and when to ignore them."

"I can tell you when not to let your pride get in the way of your reasoning. But if you won't listen – "

She finally raised her very watery eyes. "I will."

"This time, you have to mean it."

"I can't let you tell me what to do. I'm not going to be _that_ wife."

"I'm not telling you what to do, I'm – "

"You are!"

He sighed. "Sometimes you do need to be reminded. And I need to be reminded when to shut my mouth, before I get hit. I thought I learned the first time, but I didn't. The second time I was fortunate enough that a bookcase wasn't involved." This at least perked her up, if only momentarily. "You came all this way to fight someone or something and I don't know what it is, but I signed up for it."

"Do you regret it?"

"Do not make me answer that?"

"You do. You do regret it!"

"No. Well ... every time you're in danger, or Alison is in danger, or even Danny is in danger, I think maybe I should have made sure this didn't come to be. Like it or not, Georgie, you're my wife and I'm always going to worry about you. So yes, there are moments when I regret it. Similar too, hopefully, moments you regret knocking me nearly unconscious while we were being hunted." He rubbed her chin. "I'm not mad about it. I just wish – that everyone could always do the right thing." He paused. "That sounds stupid, now that I say it. That will never happen, will it?"

"No," she whispered. "But we can try."

"You'll try to reason, or at least listen to me when I'm begging you not to use those deadly instincts of yours. And I will try to duck after I say something abominably stupid."

She giggled. He could feel her fingers tighten around his. "I'm sorry," she whispered, for the final time.

"I am, too. I'm sorry for everything – but most of all, for staying mad at you for three terrible days. What a waste of time." He kissed her on the cheek.

"I missed you," she said, burying her face in his shoulder. And that hurt him more – that he had really been gone. They had fought, and separated, and they weren't capable of that. They barely survived when they were eighteen and now it was well-nigh impossible.

"I did, too," he said. "More than you could possibly imagine."

Boarding Alison with Danny that night was a wonderful idea. They let her stay with her cousin for the next morning, and most of the next day as well. For the policeman of Imbe, Jeffrey-san wasn't seen out of his quarters for nearly three days.

...Next Chapter - Constable Darcy

* * *

Notes: So, I want to make a comment since the next chapter won't be for a few days about Georgie, who comes off pretty negatively in this chapter. To answer your questions, yes, she does grow tremendously in this story, but - kinda like Darcy, not Elizabeth - she has problems expressing what she's feeling, especially when it's regret.

I was talking to my beta, Brandy, about a future plotline in which Georgie is again called to use her special methods of dealing with things (violence) in a case of domestic abuse. At some point I said, "Well, it's not like Georgie and Geoffrey aren't technically in an abusive relationship themselves."

To which Brandy responded, "Oh no, those are love taps." Which was honestly the best way we could put it.

* * *


	22. Constable Darcy

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 22 - Constable Darcy

The events at Imbe did not escape the attention of the daimyo, and the Darcys found themselves in a bind. The shōgun gave them strict orders to stay where they were, but they had a summons to the daimyo's castle that could not be ignored. It was for "the foreigner leader and one retainer."

Danny understood when Geoffrey told him it would be Georgie. He was not oblivious to the fact that they had fought, and he had never seen them fight before. If they wanted to spend time together, so much the better.

"Being Okappiki does not require you to be so smug about it," Georgie said as they walked up the path leading to the castle far off in the distance. Geoffrey had his jutte weapon tucked into the hold of his kimono. It was more of a status of office than an applicable weapon, especially because he didn't know how to use it.

"When you defeat someone, everyone in Derbyshire can tell from the look on your face."

She did not respond to this verbally, and he gave her a smile.

It was a beautiful fall day, and the road was easy-going and rather empty except for couriers, who stopped only briefly to look at the well-armed couple. Some didn't stop at all, because their hats were so wide and deep it was hard to tell they were foreigners from a distance.

"It is a rather peaceful holiday spot," Geoffrey said. "I can't imagine how they would advertise."

"Some of their political policies do put off tourists."

"That and the constant threat of death."

"And the bad footwear."

He laughed as they approached the entrance to the town. Farmers and other peasants were not permitted in, and officially, the samurai were not permitted out. "We are here at the request of the daimyo."

The guard looked a bit surprised, but he called for a guide to lead them through the town. It was larger than Imbe, but more regulated, with only artisans and official merchants allowed. There were samurai everywhere, but none of them looked particularly ready to jump into battle. The main difference was that none of them bowed to the guests, and some pretended not to look at them with a serious air of disdain.

The daimyo of Bizen and several other provinces was at home. His castle was lavish, though it showed signs of needing repair, reflecting a past, not present wealth. The magistrate's house was a hovel in comparison to the long hallways with polished wooden beams and painted rice paper decorating the walls. The hall of reception was very long, and several samurai, partially and fully armed, were lining the sides of it. The daimyo sat on a chair, not unlike the shōgun, but without the screen, his discerning eye looking them over as they bowed to the ground and knelt on the mats. The guide introduced Geoffrey as Okappiki-san (Mr. Policeman) and did not introduce Georgiana at all.

The daimyo was fat, but not monstrously so, but his bulk created a sense of presence that was otherwise lacking. "I have been informed that a large shipment of rice is due to arrive at Imbe."

"This is true, my lord."

"Arrangements must be made for the proper portion to be sent here. Surely you understand the law in that regard."

"I do understand the law in that regard," Geoffrey said. "I've studied it intensely over the last few days, since we received your summons, and my understanding is that you are to receive for your services as protector of the farmers a portion of the earnings from _their_ land, in _your_ domain. The records in the magistrate's office indicate that they were still paying the tax in full despite the looting of their own savings by Boss Tanaka and Boss Inegari, so the issue is not lost kokus for your retainers. You will receive your share of the rice harvested this year, I assure you. The magistrate has no intention of doing otherwise. But as for the rice they are to receive, it is being gifted to them by me, and it is arriving from a merchant who operates outside your domain, and therefore is wholly outside the bounds of taxable income for the farmers and other villagers."

"Lousy gaijin! You think you know the law better than me? I can raise their regular taxes to take from the new surplus."

"You can," Geoffrey said, "and you will have to justify it to Edo. And even if you succeed in doing that, they may very well rebel. The taxes already weigh heavily on them, especially with the minor drought last year. Many of them are starving. Even a lone constable like myself would be unable to stop such an uprising, and there is now a surplus of arms in the area, with the Tanaka gang defeated. You would be risking a lot."

The daimyo's face was turning red. "I have dozens of samurai families to feed. It would be dishonorable to allow the peasants to eat better than them!"

Geoffrey bowed. "So sorry, but as a simple foreigner, I am unable to give counsel on the matters of samurai. It is not my place."

The daimyo continued to fume, but silently, pulling at his little moustache. Finally he said, "And I can't have you killed, can I? I'll have to answer to the shōgun if you die in my domain."

"Hai, I believe so. And we almost were murdered by a hired yojimbo, I would point out. Luckily we managed our own way out of that."

"What do you want?"

"For you to drop your claims on the rice shipment?" he looked at Georgie, who nodded. "There is a custom in my country that I think you will find very applicable. You will choose your best warrior, and if my wife can defeat him, you will rescind your claim to the rice. If you win, I will make all the arrangements to have the right amounts sent to you when they arrive." Fortunately, his worry for Georgiana kept him from laughing, but she had insisted.

"You cannot be serious!" one of his retainers said. "That is your _wife?_"

"I am a bit offended at the implication, O-samurai-sama," Georgie said.

He seethed, but did not draw his weapon. It was unthinkable. Still, a great fortune was now on the table.

"Combat with wooden swords?" the daimyo said uneasily.

"Yes, my lord."

"If you are so insistent, we will show generosity in adhering to your country's barbaric and inferior custom this one time. I will demand that this takes place as soon as possible."

"I am ready now," Georgie said.

The daimyo was not prepared for this, but he managed. "Get Hotaka."

"Hai!"

There was a training area outside, where guests and non-participants could sit on cushions. The daimyo had the best one brought out to him, along with tea and several of his retainers. He offered Geoffrey a seat, but he didn't take it yet.

"Are you sure about this?" Geoffrey said in English as Georgiana removed her jacket. "Some of these men have been training all their lives."

"So have I. And you told me to get back into practice."

"This was not what I meant."

She removed Mugen's sword and strap and handed it to him. "Wish me luck."

"I wish you more than that."

She smiled at him, and stepped into the yard. She was handed a wooded sword, which she tested as the samurai named "Hotaka" removed his own jacket and tied up his sleeves. He put his long sword on the stand and picked up his own wooden sword. Geoffrey took a seat beside the daimyo, and nervously took a sip from the offered tea.

Four plastered walls surrounded them. There was one tree, and nothing else. The samurai did not bow, but got immediately into stance. Georgiana stood up from her crouched position and raised her sword to mimic him, though in her shortened hakama and general appearance, she was a poor representation of a samurai.

Hotaka did a full-on charge. He missed her entirely. She was already long gone, and he stumbled forward as she struck him in the back, forcing him to the ground.

There were no shouts or murmurs. The samurai only flinched and tightened their fists in anger, and Geoffrey watched them briefly before turning his eyes back to Georgiana. Hotaka was not much taller than Georgie, but he was certainly stronger. He could break her skull open with that sword, Geoffrey was sure of it. As long as she was fast enough –

The samurai got back to his feet and resumed his stance. Georgie didn't bother. When he attacked, she did block it, but not directly, merely deflecting it so she could get up close, switch her hand positions, and butt him in the chest with the back of the sword. He toppled over again.

Now there were some murmurs as she circled him, waiting for him to rise. She didn't taunt him, but everything about her posture was taunting. Hotaka came right up, striking lower, and she leapt right over his swing, landing her geta against the tree, where she used the momentum to push back off and strike him again while she was in the air. It didn't take him down, but it knocked the sword out of his hands while she rolled to safety and back to her feet.

The visibly frustrated samurai got to his feet yet again, quickly readjusting his sandals, and ignoring the topknot that had come loose. He grunted, and got into a different stance, pulling his sword back and waiting for her to attack. She would have to take the offensive, or they would just circle each other.

She did swing, and he blocked, just like out of a manual, giving her the chance to stamp down on his foot with her sandal. He cried out and keeled over, and she struck his back for extra measure before he hit the dirt. "I yield!"

To his surprise, she held out a hand for him to take. "You should see a doctor to set your foot." He reluctantly took her offer, and was pulled up, and limped back to the daimyo, kneeling before him.

"Motoyoshi Hotaka," the shōgun said, "for your disgraceful behavior, I order you to – "

"Sir," Geoffrey interrupted, "my country finds that extremely distasteful."

"He was defeated! And this is not your country, Okappiki-san!"

"I'll fight someone else, if you let him live," Georgie shouted, and knelt in the sand next to her victim. "Your expectations of him defeating me were unrealistic."

The daimyo turned to Geoffrey. "You will hold to our deal for a second duel?"

A man's life was at stake. "I will."

A samurai on the sidelines leapt up, "My lord, please allow me the honor of defeating this barbarian!"

The daimyo nodded. The samurai removed his sword and took up Hotaka's, and charged recklessly at Georgie. It was not hard for her to trip him backwards, so he fell on his back, and she struck his chest for good measure. He did not stay down the first time, but he stayed down the second. "I yield."

So it went. Georgie was too quick and too clever. Many samurai remarked they had never seen anyone fight like her before, and looked warily at Geoffrey, surely even stronger. She had defeated no less than eight before Geoffrey called it off. "Sir," he said, kneeling to the daimyo, "I think we have proved our point." Georgie was tiring, and he didn't want any further danger to come to her.

The daimyo looked out over the crowd of wounded and exhausted samurai, and said, "So you have."

* * *

Ahead of the rice, which was on its way, a courier arrived not to assure Geoffrey of that but to deliver a bundle. The foreigners, who could do no wrong in the eyes of the town, happily received them, and were excited to open the paper wrapping to reveal a pile of English letters, sealed with the familiar stamps of Pemberley, the Bingley family, and the Maddox clan. There were others, too, and their first job was to sort through it in their quarters. Brian and Nadezhda's letter topped it off. Their conditions in Edo were fine, and the only danger (in Nadezhda's eyes) was that the prices on goods were too low and they might exhaust their company resources buying items for export.

Geoffrey opened the smallest one with the Darcy seal. His father was very succinct and did not like to waste paper.

_To Geoffrey Darcy,_

_It is my dearest wish that this letter finds you all well. I have always believed in taking Mr. Maddox's reassurances with a grain of salt, but I am eager to believe him that you were are doing well and are in a safe place, under the protection of the government. Your mother and I have great faith in you and your instincts despite your decision to make this journey, and wish you a speedy return, which hopefully will be soon._

_All is well here at Pemberley, but for the loss of a beloved son and his family. Your mother and grandfather are well, and there should be a letter from your mother in the attached package, though I do not know the conditions of the mail in the Orient. _

_Your sisters are also well. Anne was courted, briefly and very informally, by the son of the earl of shire, but she decided to end it when he announced his plans to move to Nova Scotia, and we are grateful for it. Sarah had a good Season in Town, and was less reluctant to attend balls, but is young yet. The main news is that Cassandra will be out next July _ _if she continues to behave herself, and I hope that you will be home for it, but will be practical if you are not._

_If no other letters from the larger family reach you, let me simply say for them that everyone is quite well. _

_Sincerely,_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire_

"Is that the longest letter you've had from him?" Georgie asked.

"No, but all of the others were ones where he was mad at me," he said, and turned to read his mother's letter, which reiterated various assurances and points, though she was far more sentimental about their absence.

_…Your father was no doubt stoic, but he misses you terribly, and I think he is especially sad to be missing his granddaughter during those very adorable years. We are pleased to learn from your letter from Dejima that she is beginning to form sentences. Please be so kind as to teach her English ones on the ride home!_

_Of the topic, we do await news of your return, whenever it shall be. Try not to make it too long. Cassandra is going out in July, and we would much like you to be there, as the ball will be unparalleled if we give in to half of her wishes. She did want it before the Season, but on that your father would not relent, but on the best of intentions, and I agreed with him._

_As you may also have heard, depending on the order of the letters, Anne was briefly courted by the viscount of shire, but it was broken off when he announced a desire to settle in Nova Scotia. Fortunately I do not think she had formed too much of an attachment to him when he told her this, and she ended it the very next day. She was upset for a little while, but her spirits were not too darkened, and your father's spirits were considerably lightened. I think you know what I mean by that._

_Sarah is doing better with the Ton, which always frightened her in the past (with good reason, I think), and you should see your father's face when Anne and Sarah tell him they have another ball to attend. He will not let anyone else escort them accepting Mr. Bingley, and even then he is cautious. Charles went often with them over the summer, but made no formal attachment. We have not heard much from him, as he stays mainly in Town. _ _He has the makings of a true bachelor in some respects, but I think he is too kind-hearted like his father to not want the company of someone else sooner or later. I have faith in him._

_Your grandfather regrets that he cannot write, as his penmanship is now abominable and he will not allow for it, so he sends you all the best and is eager to hear your many wild tales, as he does not doubt you have. Other than his hands, which are very stiff, he is in good health, but has never ceased discussing his imminent death. He says discussing it clearly only extends his life, so he ought to continue making as many dire predictions as possible._

_We do long to see our granddaughter – and of course our niece and daughter, and yourself, but I will confess that Alison is most often in our conversation. I beg of you to provide a detailed description of her progress, and if there is a lack of toys and dresses in Japan, we will see to this immediately! _

_All our love,_

_Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy_

There were many others, all reassurances and mundane news. Danny did not read his letters to them, but merely said his parents seemed "more accepting of the situation" than previous. Only one letter concerned Georgie so visibly that Geoffrey, who had stopped reading letters out loud, asked to see it. Much of it was repetitive at this point, but part of it was significantly different.

_Oh Georgie, I must confess this to you, and I wish you were here to tell, because you are so good at keeping secrets and would not tell anyone._

_Charles' behavior worries me. He spent the entire Season in London with us, and at first I was overjoyed, because it was his first as an eligible bachelor and he could escort us. He did dance and make merry, and it was obvious that many respectable women sought a further attachment, but he would always avoid the conversation when I tried to mention it the next morning. Eventually he admitted that he tired of it, and found no one to his liking (which is so unlike Charles!), and would be grateful when the Season was over._

_He returned to Kirkland with us, but stayed only for the shooting season, and then went back to London. I know he is a man of his own means now and can do as he pleases, but I miss him terribly and am often visiting him, because he stays all alone in our townhouse, sometimes seeing friends from Cambridge. I know he does not gamble, but he drinks a terrible amount, and with the little that he eats, it cannot be good for his health! He demanded that I not tell Mama and Papa when I was witness to a particularly bad morning of his after a night out at the theater, and I could only say yes to my dear brother, but it did not stop me from worrying. When I ask him about it, he smiles and tells me as a bachelor, this ridiculous behavior is expected of him, but I cannot take it so humorously._

_I beg of you to write Charles. Perhaps he will say something to you behind the safety of a letter that he will not say to me, as strange as that sounds. He does look up to you. _

_All my best,_

_Your Loving Sister,_

_Elizabeth Bingley_

"I'll write him," Georgie said when Geoffrey closed the letter and handed it back to her. "You should, but don't mention what she said. Just sound curious."

"Of course." He added, "I know Charles. Perhaps the Ton is too harsh an environment for him yet. My father was not married until nine and twenty, and spent many summers elsewhere. He will come around."

Regardless, he hugged her, because she seemed to need it.

* * *

A great deal of rice was going to Bizen. It did not go unnoticed in the Mikawa province, where a surplus had resulted in good sales to a rice merchant. There was speculation about it, but there were more interesting things to discuss than rice, except when contemplating stealing it.

"I heard 100 kokus."

"I heard a thousand."

The ronin Umanosuke was only half-listening as he entered the tavern. On one side was a group of old men, gambling their last bu coins away. On the other side were other undesirables and outcasts, some with their hats still covering their faces. Umanosuke did not hide his, or the battle scars on his face, though one wouldn't call it a proper battle. It was more like a deal gone badly. "Oi, give me some sake."

"Hai." The server said, and went to fetch fresh bottles. Umanosuke removed his unwieldy long sword from his belt and set it against the bar. "What's everyone complaining about now?"

"Our empty bellies, that's what!" a bar patron said. "Aye, while the peasants in Bizen eat white rice."

"Don't be ridiculous," said one of the old men. "Where would they get the money for that?"

"Maybe he's talking about merchants, not farmers. Greedy bastards."

"No, he's talking about farmers. I heard – some magistrate got a lot of money and bought his farmers rice with it! He must have gone mad."

"He stole that money – from me," said the man at the end of the bar. He was wearing a short sword, but he was no samurai. "And he didn't even do it himself, the bastard. He had some gaijin thugs do it."

"Foreigners? In Bizen? Impossible!" One of the old men laughed. "The day I see a foreigner roam freely will be my last!"

"No, it's true," said the man. Umanosuke noticed he had bandages around his hands, and could barely use them to raise his dish to drink. "The shōgun sent them to bring a Dutch book to a doctor, and they've taken over the place! One of them broke my hands and took all my money."

"You were beaten up by a foreigner? Sa! Impossible. What kind of wimp are you?"

Umanosuke ignored the men's comments. "Oi, you – what's your name?"

The man from Bizen turned to him. "Tanaka."

"Why didn't you hire a yojimbo if those foreigners were so tough, if you had so much money?" the server said as he served Umanosuke, interrupting him.

"I did. They bribed him. Beat me at my own game."

Much of the room burst out laughing. Tanaka just sunk further into the bar, knocking back dish after dish of hot sake.

"Oi, Bizen, isn't that where Imbe is? The place with the pottery merchants?" said another patron.

"I was there once," one of the old men said, "when I was young."

"I heard there's a man in Imbe, a fighter who takes all comers," he said. "You pay twenty bu and your money goes in the pot. If you beat him with sticks, you get the pot. It must be very large right now, because he's won a lot of battles."

"Oi, what's this?" Umanosuke said, increasingly interested.

"That's what I heard," said the patron. "Right, Usagi? Did you hear anything like that? You were telling me."

The samurai named Usagi, who was sitting at his own table behind them, put down another bottle. "Hai, but it isn't a man. It's a demon. A demon with a sword and red hair. A real tengu, geta and everything."

"Don't say such things!" said the tavern keeper. "It's bad luck."

"But it's true," Usagi said. "A red-haired demon. I even heard it was female."

"Ridiculous!"

"They can't be female!"

"How would they screw?"

The three old men laughed, but Umanosuke noted that Tanaka was listening very closely. "Tanaka-san, what do you know of this?"

"I heard there was a contest, but I didn't know it was in Imbe. Yes, that makes sense. There are red-haired foreigners in Imbe. The one who beat me up was a woman!"

"You drunk!"

"It's true," he said. "She was crazy."

"Then maybe she wasn't gaijin. Maybe she was a tengu," said one of the old men, who was nearly bald. "Or maybe your mind's lost in your cup."

"Or maybe he's telling the truth," said the other man, the one with the long beard.

"Even if there's no tengu and no foreigners," Umanosuke said, "I wouldn't mind winning that contest."

"Now that would be something!"

Tanaka turned to him. "Ronin-san, you're going to Imbe?"

"Maybe. If the price is right."

"I'll pay you."

"What?"

His voice made it clear that he was very serious. "I'll pay you to kill that tengu woman. You can do it after winning the fight or just sneak up on her – I don't care. Just come back with her head, and I'll pay you 100 ryo. They didn't steal _all_ my money." He reached into his pocket, and put a ryo on the table, to prove it.

Umanosuke was more than intrigued. "Half up front, half later."

"Agreed." The exchange was made. "And watch out for the tall one with brown hair. He's so hairy, you can't miss him. He has guns."

"You want me to kill him, too? That'll cost more."

"Start with the tengu, and he'll fall. It's his wife."

There was another round of laughter, but Umanosuke still took the money. "All right, then."

His luck was finally changing. If anything, he had fifty ryo out of it, but he really was interested in the other fifty, and whatever was in that pot. And killing a foreigner. Wouldn't that be interesting? After years of bad deals and bosses that didn't pay enough, he finally felt like his luck was changing. For good measure, he even hired himself a retainer. That was the only real challenge yet, as no one wanted to go. All he could find was one of the old men, who needed a staff to walk but could still carrying things on his back. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Yes, his luck had definitely changed.

...Next Chapter - The Ronin Umanosuke

* * *

So a bit of background here: The magistrate of the town is ultimately a vassal of the daimyo, the local lord who controls that area. Daimyos traditionally lived in castles because they were helpful protection during earlier warring periods where sieges were a problem. When the Tokugawa regime ordered that samurai not mingle with commoners and basically form their own communities near the daimyo to whom they answered ("samurai" means "to serve"), "castle-towns" sprung up around the castle itself and contained mainly samurai families, workers employed by samurai, and merchants who sold goods to them. Imbe, where Geoffrey is constable, is not a castle-town, and does not have a samurai population beside the lone yojimbo, who is a lordless samurai-for-hire.

* * *


	23. The Ronin Umanosuke

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Points to Nautica for calling it.

* * *

Chapter 23 - The Ronin Umanosuke

"I yield!"

Georgie was a gracious winner. She offered to help the samurai up, and he reluctantly accepted. He did not, however, get his twenty bu back. They went into the ever-growing pile in the box in Geoffrey's hands. They did buy him a drink at the tavern, which he accepted, but turned down the offer of their company.

"We should do something with this money," Geoffrey said. "I'm nervous about having people know we have so much coin."

"So my safety means nothing to you?"

"Aside from that," he said, and kissed her bruised and calloused hand. She did occasionally get hit, and every time his stomach turned, but she was never seriously injured. He was concerned when she groaned while picking Alison up. "Maybe you should retire."

"Mama fight!" Alison said, swinging her little wooden stick that Geoffrey had carved for her. "Papa watch!"

This got a good laugh from Danny and Sanjuro, the consumptive yojimbo. He was still well enough to show Danny a few tricks, and in exchange, he lived with them. The magistrate was compensated enough, and had no say in the matter.

"I can fight when I want to," Geoffrey said. "It just does not involve sticks." He kissed his daughter as Georgie set her down so she could stretch.

"Kiso, tell them to heat the bath," she said, and their servant nodded and ran off, and Georgie went inside.

Geoffrey waited a moment. "Will you watch Alison? I'm going to ... take a walk."

"Sure." Danny shook his head. "Gross."

Geoffrey blushed. "What do you know of it?"

"I know we have walls made of paper connecting our rooms," Danny said with disgust, and Geoffrey ducked inside to avoid further embarrassment.

* * *

When the man walked in the door, everyone in the tavern in Mikawa paid attention. Even without a hand on either of his swords, he still had an aura of quiet menace, but he seemed oblivious to their stares with his eyes hidden beneath his ronin hat (even though it was clear to everyone he was no ronin). Only the lower half of his face was visible as he approached the bar, turned, and looked at the former yakuza boss of Imbe. "You are Tanaka."

"H-Hai," he said, backing up against the wall. The other patrons decided to make themselves scarce. "What do you want? Is it money?"

"You met the foreigners staying in Imbe."

"Hai! I did. They – " But he saw the samurai reach into his robe, and he started shaking. " – they robbed me."

"And you paid to have one of them killed. The girl."

"...Hai."

The samurai did not speak, making it all the worse, and finally removed his hand from his sleeve and revealed a piece of folded paper, which he held out. Tanaka snatched it, and unfolded it to the drawing of a sword with a strange hilt and a jutte-like attachment on the flat side.

"Is this the sword she had?"

"Hai. I – I don't know. It did look a bit like that."

The samurai put out his hand, and Tanaka folded the paper and handed it back. When the samurai spoke, it was slow and meticulous. "You paid someone to go after her."

"It was only – "

"When did he leave?"

"I don't know – it was maybe a week ago. Please, I don't remember exactly. I'm in constant pain, I lose track of time – "

"You paid him to kill her."

"It was only fifty ryo!"

"That does not concern me."

It was over before they saw his hand go to the sword. There was only a flash of steel, and sound of Tanaka's blood splattering against the wall. As the man replaced his sword, Tanaka's limp body slid down in the slickness of his own blood.

The samurai adjusted his hat, and walked out the way he'd came. No one said a word.

* * *

The streets of Imbe were filled with bright colors that lit up the night sky. Lanterns using all different colors were strung up, all the way from the temple down past the magistrate's office and to the water post that marked the end of town and the beginning of the surrounding villages.

"What color is that?" Geoffrey pointed to one of them.

"Red!"

"Very good. And that one?"

"Purple!"

He kissed his daughter. "You knew them all!" She rode on his shoulders, so she could be high up enough to see everyone, and also so she wouldn't be lost in the crowds. "I remember when she couldn't name a single color."

"I remember when she didn't know what her hands were," Georgie said. For the evening, she was dressed in a beautiful silk kimono with a floral pattern that complimented her hair. Everyone, even the poorest beggar, seemed to have some bit of color on them, or drank enough sake to _see_ colors on them.

The Darcys and Danny watched the religious part from a distance, as a statue was paraded around the town to honor whatever god it was that watched over the harvest. They joined in when the celebration turned more secular, and the revelry moved to the pavilion. Dancers wearing tengu demon masks with red noses danced, frightening some of the children, but the adults laughed it off and clapped furiously, to make the demons go away.

"Hold on," he said, and reached into his sleeve, removing a pill case that contained his earpiece. They were approaching some very enthusiastic drummers, and though it was very well done, he wasn't taking chances.

"So I can say whatever I want to you now?" Danny said.

"What?" Geoffrey said. "No, you cannot say whatever you want to me now."

"Unless you say it softly," Georgie giggled.

"Don't gang up on me!"

"Papa look!" Alison pointed. "Mama!" A man with a mask and a gigantic wig of red hair was dancing on the stage with high geta shoes and a long naginata spear.

"My nose is not _that_ big," she said. "Stop laughing, both of you. All three of you."

But there was no stopping them, not until some of the peasants they were more familiar with cleared the way and bowed to them. "Jeffrey-sama," they said.

"What is it?"

"We give you a gift," said one of the village headmen, "for all you have done for us."

"Oh, really, I only did – what is that?"

The creature on the end of the rope was not interested in the noise or the lights, and it took some four men to push it forward so he could see it. "A cow!" Geoffrey shouted like it was a Christmas present. "Oh my G-d – a milk cow!" The Japanese didn't milk their cows, fearing it would weaken them, and they needed them as pack animals. He turned to his wife, and read the smile on her face. "You knew of this?"

"They wanted to get you something, so they came to me for a suggestion," she said. "It'll be winter soon, so we can slaughter it and dry the remains, as long as we give the hide back so they can sell it to a leatherworker."

"Then ... meat." His mouth was already watering. "We can have meat. Oh, what I would do for a roast!" He bowed very low, which looked a bit ridiculous with Alison on his shoulders, but he managed. "Domo Arigato. Thank you! Thank you so very much!"

He called for Kiso and some other attendants of the magistrate to haul the cow away, and the gaijin family and their friends clapped alongside the others, wishing the demons away and for another successful year, until Alison was asleep in his arms, which were getting tired.

"I'll catch up," Danny said, still watching the festivities.

Geoffrey turned to his wife and began the walk back.

"So how does this compare to the harvest festival at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?"

"At the risk of blasphemy, I would say this is the best harvest festival I've ever attended."

Danny was going to join them, but he felt a tug on his arm. Sanjuro, who rarely went out in public, made the effort. As long as he didn't drink, he could last a while on his feet. "Oi, Dani-chan. The villagers are very grateful."

"Geoffrey really thought of everything, and Georgie did everything."

"Not everything," Sanjuro said. "Stealing a gang's worth of weapons and money in one night isn't nothing. And they want to thank you for it." He handed him a bottle of sake. "Drink."

Danny managed to knock most of it back fairly quickly. "It really isn't as foul as some of the things I've had, but I wouldn't recommend it at home."

"Gaijin don't appreciate anything!"

"What does that make me?"

Sanjuro laughed, and it was infectious. Three bottles later, they were walking back and forth on the streets, as the drumming continued but some of the crowd began to dissipate, the main events over. It was time for wives and children to go to bed. The two of them wandered to the door of a house that Danny thought was a teahouse, but quickly realized was not. Not when he was pushed into a room with a woman with a half-open kimono on the mattress. He straightened his glasses and did the instinctual thing, and turned to run. Sanjuro was there in his way, and grabbed hold of him. "What is it? She wants to thank you, too!"

"I – I can't do this! What would my father think?"

"Sa, I didn't know you had a father! I thought you red-haired demons hatched from eggs."

He looked at the woman, then back at Sanjuro, who would not release him. "I am most serious." Even though his voice was slurred. "I can't."

"What, you prefer men? Because we can – "

"No! No, no, that is not the problem, I assure you." He shook his head, but it only served to make him dizzier. "I've never – "

"No wonder you don't have the will to swing your sword. You don't know how to handle your little one!"

He could not have been blushing more. "Please, I don't want to get her – "

"We'll take care of everything, demon gaijin! Now get in there, and make a man of yourself!" With a laugh, Sanjuro pushed him in, and shut the door. Danny fell back onto the mattress.

"Excuse me," he said. She was very beautiful, in an exotic way, especially with her face powdered white. "No, I can't – "

"You want two?"

"No! I don't even – " but he was cut off as she kissed him. " – want two. One. I forget." _Daniel Maddox Junior! What would your father think? What would your brother think? Well, actually, Fred would be cheering me on, wouldn't he?_ _He was also so good with women. And Charles. And Geoffrey was just holding out. Wait!_ If George Wickham could get himself something, why couldn't –

Then the woman reached into his hakama through the slit on the side, and he lost his train of thought. "Oh G-d," he said in English.

"Dani-san?"

"Just – don't stop. Please."

She seemed more than happy to comply.

* * *

Umanosuke arrived in Bizen province earlier than he expected; his attendant was not as slow as he thought he would be, despite his hobbling. It was all the better. Winter was closing in, and soon the roads would become impassable. They paused when they came over the hill and saw the town of Imbe below, still lit up for the festival, though the noise level was going down as they approached. Umanosuke sat beneath the tree, letting his attendant serve him. It was good to have one again. Being a wandering ronin often prevented one out of sheer poverty. Not that it was his fault that deals went sour, time and again, and the shipping raid had fallen through. Starting with the loss of his official position as under-magistrate in that awful town in the north, his life had been a downhill spiral. He hated that job, and was at first elated to lose it over a fight with another samurai (that ended in bloodshed), but when the money was tight, he was moodier. His skills were now appreciated. Now they would be – provided that bastard Tanaka paid him. 50 ryo was already a lot, and from what he heard on the road, there was a contest and there was supposedly a very large pot from all of the losers.

"Samurai-sama, how are you going to beat the tengu?"

He sneered at his attendant. "The usual way. It's with wooden swords, no? And after I get the pot, then I'll jump her."

"Hai, but she's beaten everyone."

"I am not everyone. Besides, if it goes too badly, there's always this," he withdrew the tanto from his obi.

"Not very honorable, samurai-sama."

"Neither is being beaten by a foreigner, and I'm not going to commit seppuku over that." Besides, he wanted to be paid. "We've wasted enough time. Come!" He stood, and the attendant rushed to collect his things before following him down the road, towards Imbe.

* * *

The furious knocking woke Georgie up. She looked over at her husband. He still had his earplug in. "Idiot." She rose, tied her kimono, and slid the door open. "What is it?"

It was Kiso. "There is a challenger here for you."

"Tell him to come back tomorrow morning."

"He has come a long way and is very insistent. He says he has no money except to pay the fee, not a bu more, and has nowhere to stay."

"Then what if he doesn't win? Oh, right, because he assumes he won't." She yawned. "Fine. Tell him to meet me in the yard, and bring at least one witness." She looked at her daughter. "Stay in bed."

She closed the door and quickly changed, wondering if she should wake Geoffrey. He looked so adorable when he slept, and he had done so much for her. He wouldn't be happy when he found out she fought without him watching, but she knew ways to make it up to him. She rewrapped her prayer beads around her wrist and slung the sword over her shoulder, just in case, before stepping outside in the brisk fall air. She didn't hear Danny snoring; he must still be at the festival.

She took a lantern with her, and used the candle inside it to light all the lanterns around the yard they used for the fights. The box wasn't there, but so much the better. Kiso quickly arrived, bringing more lanterns and the ronin, followed by his attendant.

She did not feel like being very formal about it. "The cost is twenty bu. If you win, you get the pot. I don't know how much is in there, but it's more than twenty bu." She picked up the wooden swords, and handed one to him. "Remove your sword."

"Hai." He bowed to her, and she bowed back out of habit, and they both set their long swords on the rack. "It is until one of us yields, no?"

"Hai. It's until you yield."

The samurai laughed. Overconfident as usual. Kiso excused himself, and the old attendant parked himself against a tree with his walking stick and pack.

"I should inform you that I am under the protection of the shōgun, and if you kill me, you will have to answer to him."

"Hai."

"Then begin, ronin-san."

He didn't charge immediately; she gave him that. Proud samurai were so predictable that way. He waited for her to get into stance, watching her movements before going for a low swing, which she blocked. He even attempted to flip his sword to stab her in the chest with the other end, but she got out of the way just in time for the swipe to miss, and she retaliated by hitting him on his arm while he was open. He took it well. It was time to get serious.

She was out of the way for his next swing entirely, leaping back against the wall and propelling herself into him with such force as to be unblockable, though he did try, and succeeded only in getting their swords between her and him so that he was hit in the chest by the back of his own sword and knocked to the ground.

He was ready to fight. He did not get up first. He swung at her ankles, which she narrowly avoided – another close call. He was very good. She had to somersault her way out of that; she could never afford to take a serious hit. Her backing off gave him time to get back to his feet and in proper stance.

Now came his attack. It was relentless, one strike after another. She blocked, she moved, she counter-striked, but he did not stop. He was intending to wear her down. While they were in a bind, their swords against each other, she kicked him in the knee with the metal bottom of her geta, and he grunted, but took the pain of a shattered knee. He wouldn't be fighting much longer, but he did succeed in knocking her down with a push.

"You bitch!" He maintained his stance by shifting most of his weight to the other leg. She would not give him the chance to do the same, with a wooden stick or otherwise. She flipped herself over, back on her feet, and swung for his other leg.

He removed one hand from his sword. She should have seen where his other hand went, but he was standing so the light was behind him, and with his black kimono, it was hard to tell until she saw the steel of the tanto. Georgie abandoned her attack and stumbled back, and narrowly avoided having her chest slit open. Instead he only cut the edges of her kimono lining, but he was ready to take advantage of her shock, and slammed the tip of the wooden sword into her diaphragm, leaving her breathless and on the ground. "You forfeit!"

"I've not forfeited the bounty on your head!" he said, and raised his blade for the final cut. Then he stopped.

All she heard was a gurgle as blood spurted out of his mouth, and blood spread across his upper torso as he lurched sideways, spilling blood as he went before collapsing. He lay still. As she wiped the blood off her face, she could see the old, bearded attendant, putting the straight blade back into the hidden compartment in his staff. He straightened up. "Despicable, even for a ronin. He knew he couldn't beat you fairly. He just wouldn't admit it." He kicked the end of the ronin's wooden blade, propelling into the air so he caught it. With the other hand, he reached into his kimono and tossed twenty bu on the ground before Georgie. "You ready?"

She grabbed her wooden sword and leapt to her feet. She was not technically injured, except for what would be a bruise on her chest. "Always."

He leapt over the body of his former master, running past her and swinging for her chest as he did. She blocked it by swinging around him, so that when they had set back into their stances, they were in opposite positions. He did not offer her a moment, going around her again and succeeding on tapping her on the back in a taunting manner.

"Hey! Come back here!" Georgie said as he used a stone to leap up onto one of the outer walls of the courtyard.

"For twenty bu, you'll have to keep up," he shouted back, and she climbed up a tree to head him off, landing feet in front of him on the wall's edge. Here she had less room to maneuver, but so did he. She swung and he leapt out of the way, somersaulting backwards so far as so his back was against the beginning of the roof proper of the magistrate's complex. He charged, and she ducked down, and caught the sword with the grove of her geta. The wood whacked against metal. "Hey!"

He twisted his blade when it was caught, contorting her so she fell off the roof, but she hit the ground without injury, and rushed back to her feet as he leapt down. They were now on the other side of the wall, where the way was not lit or clear, but they had the moon for light. She had to move on instinct, and swung for his head, but he saw it, and their blades locked. He shoved her back and quickly stabbed at her again, but didn't complete the blow. The tip of the wooden sword pressed against her throat. "I want my money. I've won."

"So sure?"

He looked down, and she had pressed the tip of her blade into his diaphragm. They stood like that, locked in their deadly embrace, saying nothing.

"Sa!" he said, and withdrew. With a single leap he propelled himself over the wall again, and she followed. He dropped his wooden sword and picked up his staff. "I really wanted the money. And to see this guy dead. Tanaka hired him to kill you, you know that? You should be more careful who you piss off. Or at least kill them. Otherwise it might come back to haunt – Oi! What's this?"

Georgie embraced him, burying her face in the fabric of his kimono. She had no words. She just had quiet sobs.

"Hey! No crying!" But when she did not relent, he sighed. "Yes, I missed you too, but – " Finally, he put his arms around her too. "I am not being sentimental. This is for warmth."

"I thought you had abandoned me," she whispered. "Mugen-san."

...Next Chapter - Mugen-Sensei

* * *


	24. MugenSensei

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 24 - Mugen-Sensei

"So it's no contest prize for me then?"

"Mugen!"

"All right, all right, I missed you, too. But I did save your life. I want a good meal."

As they moved back into the light, she had her first good look at her old mentor. He was not, as he had appeared earlier, an old man. The beard and the fact that he slumped over gave that impression, but he could not have been more than fifty, at most, and he appeared in good health. Some of his unruly hair was up in a proper topknot, but otherwise he appeared unchanged.

"Mama!" Alison finally managed to get the door open herself, if only enough of a slit for her to climb through, and leapt down from the platform and ran towards Georgie with hands up.

"Oi, what's this?" Mugen said as Georgie picked up Alison and held her tight.

"Did you wake Papa?"

"No." She frowned. "You smell bad."

Georgie's jacket was still stained with the ronin's blood. That she could not deny. "You don't have to say it like that. Now say hello to Mugen-san." She set her down, turning her around to face Mugen.

"Mugen-san," Alison repeated fairly successfully, and bowed.

"Kid, what's your name?"

"Alison!"

"Alison," he said. Normally Japanese pronounced it wrong, falling into 'Ali-san' or 'Ali-chan' and just assuming her name was 'Ali.' He must have remembered enough English to understand the pronunciation. "Who's the kid?" he asked Georgie.

"My daughter." Before she offered anything else, Alison ran back inside. Georgie was forced to follow her into their receiving room, where Geoffrey was emerging, tying his obi.

"What is it?"

"Did Alison wake you?"

He wiped his eyes. "It's fine." He looked at Mugen. "Who are you?" He was in no mood for formalities, either.

"You don't recognize him?" Georgie said.

Geoffrey squinted in the lamplight. He was probably guessing when he said, "Mugen."

"You're that boy, who was always following Jorgi around," Mugen said. "And you still are."

"I should; I'm her husband," he said, and bowed. "Geoffrey Darcy."

Mugen returned the bow. "Alison is your daughter?"

"Yes." At his daughter's insistence, he picked her up. "You should be in bed."

"I want a cow!"

"We have a cow."

"I want to ride!"

"You can't ride a cow. And it's just _I want I want I want_ with you tonight! What is wrong with you? No more of whatever you had at that festival." He kissed her and set her down. "I want to hear you sleeping."

"It would have to be really loud, then," Georgie said, and pushed her daughter off into the bedroom, ignoring Geoffrey's glare. Kiso appeared, and brought Georgie a wet cloth to clean her face with, and left to get them tea.

Geoffrey, amused by Mugen's stunned silence, took the opportunity to ask his wife, "Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride," she said. "He got it worse."

"A lousy ronin didn't want to lose," Mugen said. "I heard him talking about it in another province, so I came with him."

"You knew it was me?"

He smiled. "A red-haired gaijin woman? It _had_ to be you."

"We sent letters," Geoffrey said as they sat down on the cushions. "Brian-san and Nadi-sama are in Edo, looking for you."

"I'm not in Edo," he said, as a servant appeared with a tray of rice balls for them, which he began to gobble down. "If you sent the messages for Mugen, they wouldn't reach me. I haven't used that name in years."

"Why did you hide? Why were you running away?" Georgie begged, and Geoffrey looked on, waiting for Mugen's reaction.

He did not answer immediately. He was very quiet. "Someone told me to go into hiding. I took his advice."

"Who was looking for you? The monks from China?"

He was trying to hide his alarm. "How do you know about that?"

"Your sword," Georgie said, setting it between them.

"It isn't mine anymore."

Geoffrey was not ready to relent. The tea was served, and he took some to keep himself awake. "We came across the world to look for you, Mugen. You're going to have to do better than that."

"Geoffrey."

Mugen just swallowed his food and looked down at the tray, picking at the other things on it. "I trained in China when I was very young. Ever since then, the other members of my school have been looking for me, because the master chose me to be his successor or something. They've never been kind about it. Some years ago – right before I sent the sword – a shōgunate official told me it was in my best interest to not be so distinctive, so I sent the sword to England."

"The sword was his? Your master's, in China?"

"The hilt. The blade was some samurai's. I killed him when I escaped Japan, long before that."

"We met a priest in Nagasaki, at Miyoshi-san's grave," Georgie said, and Mugen picked up at the name. "He said some Chinese monks came looking for you, and they never came back."

"Heh. No, they won't come back; not through this world. And they weren't monks as you think of monks, like the man with the funny hair, the brother."

"My Uncle Grégoire."

"Hai, him." He resumed eating the rest of their food. "It is a very long story."

"You could have written," Georgie said. "The note on the sword was very cryptic."

He shook his head. "I couldn't. Other people saw the note. You couldn't be involved."

"If we hadn't thought up the contest and the prize to attract you," Geoffrey said, "we might have never found you."

"But that's not what happened, was it?" he replied. "Jorgi-chan would find me."

"I thought you didn't believe in fate."

"Heh. I don't believe in it, but it keeps chasing me anyway." He chuckled. "Who else do I have to kill to get something real to drink around here?"

* * *

Because of the festival, the sake places were still open for delivery, and brought fresh bottles to the magistrate's office (anything, of course, for their gaijin policeman!), which Mugen slowly made his way through as Georgie told him about Hatcher, about France, and about Liu Xiao and her knighthood. He mainly grinned and listened, which was all Georgie really wanted. They sat in the courtyard, and Geoffrey sat across from them, forcing himself awake with more tea. Georgie was so animated, so happy to finally unload so many years of accomplishments and disasters on her mentor, unconsciously or consciously awaiting his approving nod of the head. Occasionally he would say something derogatory about someone else, but otherwise was busy listening.

Before that evening, Geoffrey always wondered if there was indeed depth to Mugen, or if he was the simple criminal he made himself out to be. The simple fact that he couldn't laugh off his troubles or tell them why he had really gone into hiding, or needed more time and concentration to tell it, finally confirmed otherwise. Maybe Georgie was too enthusiastic at the moment to notice it or had never thought anything less of Mugen, but Geoffrey liked to be cautious. Georgie needed more than confirmation that Mugen was alive; she needed some sort of approval. He had something to teach her, or so she thought, and Geoffrey was determined that his wife would not be disappointed if he had anything to say about it.

When it became clear that Mugen was fairly drunk, Georgie apologized for rambling and reluctantly bid him a good night, setting up his room for him. She would not let him go until he assured her that every one of his needs were met, and then she needed even more prodding from Geoffrey, who saw the obvious signs that she was fading after an exhausting and emotional night. With happy tears in her eyes she finally retired, and went to sleep.

Geoffrey did not. He waited a bit, but it didn't come to him, so he quietly slid the door open and stepped back into the courtyard, partially lit by the very early morning light that turned the sky a very dark blue. He found where Mugen was still sitting, no longer drinking, but surrounded by empty sake bottles. Geoffrey sat beside him.

"Mugen-san." His call got a response. Mugen looked at him, then back at the ground. "It is good to see you again."

Mugen gave him a little gesture of agreement. He'd removed the wrappings around his arms that had hid his convict tattoos for so long.

"This means everything to Georgiana, seeing you again," he said. "I suppose you know that."

"Yes."

"She's modeled her life after you – for good and bad. She copied you and she did terrible things."

Mugen regarded him with his reddened eyes. "You're a harsh husband to have around."

"You have no idea what she went through. Her family thought about putting her in an institution ... where you put people who are mad. Forever. There were times when she could barely live with herself." He tightened his robe against the morning chill. "Last year, she had a child, a boy. It died while it was still in her womb." Some of his vocabulary did not extend this far, but he managed. "It is beyond your imagining, what she went through. She truly thought she had killed that child, because all you taught her was how to fight and kill, when it was just a normal miscarriage. And when I found out you left her hanging, with her training unfinished, I decided to bring her here – so you could set things right." He stood up to leave. "I have a great respect for you, Mugen. In a certain way, I can see how you can be charming or exciting, and you protected us when we were children and you saved her life tonight. That said, if you hurt her again, I'll kill you myself."

Resting his hand on the gun tucked in his obi for emphasis, he paused, then stepped back up into their private rooms, where his wife and child were sleeping. Mugen did not respond, but remained sitting in the courtyard, looking up at the sky.

* * *

They all slept rather late, to no one's surprise. Geoffrey expressed some alarm that he did not see Danny Maddox anywhere about and was informed that he had not returned from the festival, but Sanjuro gave him a reassuring smile, and Geoffrey did not have time to work himself into a panic for Daniel Maddox Jr. did reappear, a stupid, shy grin on his face, refusing to answer questions about his whereabouts.

"Danny isn't _capable_ of getting into trouble," Georgie assured him.

"And this is the happiest we've seen him."

Mugen snuck out of his room somewhere in the middle of the day to sun himself in the courtyard with a towel wrapped around his head. Fortunately the magistrate had learned not to question the foreigners about their guests, at least not while everything was going so well in town.

"He'll be staying the winter," Geoffrey said in passing, and the magistrate grumbled and nodded.

There were other things to attend to. Dr. Ogata arrived, not only to read more of the book with Geoffrey helping him, but also to call on Sanjuro, who had avoided major spasms but was still weakening. His lessons for Danny were mainly instructions, not actual movement on his part. He was curious about the vagrant who had shown up sometime during the night, and questioned Geoffrey as the latter took care of the body on the field and took down the contest sign. "He's an old friend of Georgie's."

"Is he trustworthy?"

"Not in the least." Still, he was smiling when he said it.

* * *

Mugen did get up somewhere in the afternoon, looking much recovered, and introductions were made. "Mugen, you remember Dr. Maddox? This is his son."

"Brian's nephew?"

"Yes."

Danny bowed to him. Mugen laughed. "You do look like Maddok-sensei."

"Thank you, Mugen-san."

"Brian-chan trained you?"

"Hai, Mugen-san."

"Oi, what's with the formalities?" Remembering something of England, he shook his hand. "Your father must be proud."

"...In his own way. Hopefully."

Mugen did not waste time. There was a strange sense of urgency when he walked with Georgie out to the newly-swept field, Geoffrey and Danny in their wake. "May I see the sword?"

Georgie drew it and presented it to him. He held it up against the sunlight. "Very nice. You've polished it well."

"Thank you, sensei."

He grinned and handed it back. "Can I see your prayer beads?"

This time, Georgie clutched her hand to her chest. "They're mine."

"I know that. Where did you get them?"

"The shrine here has a collection of lost beads. There must be thousands of them."

He seemed surprised. "How did you pick those?"

"I just saw them. Why?"

Mugen changed the subject. "You said that Liu Xiao taught you about ki. The blade can be just an extension of that, if used properly." He walked around her, carrying his cane blade. "It takes years of practice and concentration to master even the tiniest external use of ki, much less an understanding of its internal movements. Don't take up drinking or thieving, because it will get in your way." As requested, Kiso brought him the wooden swords, and took away their real ones. Mugen stepped back ten paces from Georgiana and raised his blade. "Hit me. Not with the sword – with your ki. I don't mind if you miss trying."

She did not miss – she hit him, and he deflected so deftly that she went off in another direction to his right. "Again!" was all he said.

So it went. All Mugen was doing was blocking, and he was doing it well. Somehow, she could not get a single hit in, or prevent herself from being thrown off her course by his block. She couldn't even get him in a lock. He was unrelenting, just like she wanted him to be. "Again!"

"I yield."

"Again!"

She tripped and fell into the dust. Geoffrey couldn't resist the instinct to help her up, but she refused him. "Let me do it by myself." She picked herself up, shook herself out, and got back into position.

"Again!"

After hitting the ground again and again, she stopped trying to shake herself out beyond wiping the dirt out of her eyes so she could see. He wasn't striking her back; he was just blocking. "Last night I could hit you."

"I know. Again!"

She hit him harder; the response was harder, even though he didn't look as though he was putting extra effort into it. Her knees and elbows were starting to hurt. She needed the sword to steady herself as she got back on her feet. "Why can't I hit you?"

"Tell me. Again!"

She took her time to settle into her stance, watching his reactions to her as she readied her wooden blade. This time, she watched him, instead of paying real attention to her own swing, as he seemed to just swat her blade away like he would swat a fly. She tumbled sideways into the dust.

"Georgie!"

"I'm fine," she shouted, though she was coughing. She pushed herself to her feet and practically limped over to Mugen, who was still in the exact same position he had been an hour ago. "You're using your ki to deflect me."

He smiled. "Yes."

"How long can you last?"

Mugen shrugged. "I might get hungry eventually."

"I yield."

They bowed, and Geoffrey finally ran to her, ready with a jug of water. "Did he hurt you?"

"Just my pride," she said. Technically the ground had hurt her more.

* * *

After a long, hot bath, Georgie was considerably more amiable, and played with her daughter until dinner. As excited as Geoffrey was about his gift, he decided to enjoy the milk first. He only succeeded in getting a few bowls of it, but it was a rare treat for them. Sanjuro spit it out, and decried the entire idea of drinking cow milk, and Mugen knowingly passed. Georgie had bandages around her knuckles as she wolfed down her food, latterly shoveling it straight from the rice bowl to her mouth. Alison tried to imitate her, but could only get through half of her own bowl.

Despite gaining a potential babysitter, Georgie and Geoffrey agreed that it was better not to leave Alison with Mugen. Besides, Georgie was too tired for anything that required privacy except conversation.

"He might corrupt Danny, you know."

"Sanjuro was already on his way to doing that. Japan seems to be full of undesirable elements."

"So no different than London, then."

Georgie giggled in response, but did not take her head off the pillow. Geoffrey was still sitting up, watching Alison have a tea party with her dolls and one of the most durable sets in the house. "You know he is lying to us."

"He's said nothing false."

"He's omitted things, refused to answer questions ..."

"Give him time."

He frowned. "You are so forgiving."

"Normally one would be inclined to see that as a more positive quality."

"I do not intend to rest until I know the real story behind his disappearance, Georgie."

"Nor do I. But perhaps we will exclude tonight from our quest, because I am exhausted."

He could not agree with her more.

...Next Chapter - The Agreement

* * *


	25. The Agreement

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

Note: This chapter was mislabeled in the previous chapter. Apologies.

* * *

Chapter 25 – The Agreement

Mugen was gone before anyone rose in the magistrate's complex. He had slept poorly, he would say. He did not like the things he saw when he closed his eyes, so he opened them.

"Get away." He swung his cane at the raven on the gravestone. "Go away." It flew off, leaving him to climb the stairs to the little temple. If this was anywhere else and in any other time, it would not have been a significant place, just a little house of prayer and a place for the Buddhist priest to live. Mugen considered his life a long series of coincidences; that was what he told himself when he was awake and angry. He did not want to be a pawn in anyone's game, and that included the gods, or the Buddha's.

It was early winter, and the land was preparing itself for the first snow, which would surely be soon. The harsh winds blew at the white prayer flags tied to the tree that stuck out over the entrance to the little building. The floor was unforgiving stone. The Buddha was made of bronze, not gold; the Japanese were so practical. It was a piece of metal.

Mugen drew the blade inside his staff just enough to prove it was there as an imminent threat.

"You would draw your sword in a shrine?"

He put it back in its case with a click. "So would you."

The samurai did not remove his ronin hat. Even with his eyes partially hidden through the screen of woven palm leaves, his gaze was unforgiving. Mugen heard the rustling of the hat. He had not turned to face the samurai, but he knew he was gazing up at the thousands of wooden prayer beads. The samurai had a set himself. He was as close as one came to an ordained monk without being one. "It really is quite impressive how thousands of lives have come together in this one tiny room."

"Hmph. I don't want to live on as a pair of beads."

"But you do want to _live_."

Mugen didn't answer the question. He assumed it was obvious.

"What was it we said?"

Mugen tightened his grip on his staff. An inferior blade to be sure; straight blades were always inferior to curved ones because of the folding process. Still, last time, he hadn't wounded Kogi with his blade. "How's your heart?"

"Still beating. How is your lung?"

"The same." He reached out and held his hand over one of the candles, almost playing with the flames with his thumb and forefinger. "I remember last time I said I would kill you if I could."

"You haven't tried yet."

Again, Mugen couldn't bring himself to respond to that.

"So, have you chosen your successor?"

"You already know the answer to that question. Why else would you be here?"

"Why else would you come out of hiding?" the samurai said. "You and I are kindred spirits."

"I don't take that as a compliment."

"No one else has ever come so close to killing me," he said. As usual, his voice had no emotion. He was so serene, like a priest. "Remember our deal. When you finish her training, I'll finish my mission."

Mugen grumbled. "I don't remember making that deal."

"Or we could fight now." The samurai stepped out, so he was no longer standing inside the temple, just on the little stone courtyard. He waited for Mugen to follow.

Mugen snapped his blade open again, quietly sighed, and closed it.

"You finally have something to lose, other than your life." He pulled his hat down further over his eyes. "We'll meet again."

Mugen did draw his blade, and swung, cutting the candles in half. Their still-lit tops fell onto the stone floor and began burning out. When he turned, there was no one there. "Kogi!"

But the samurai was gone.

* * *

"Alison, come back here! You'll catch cold!" Despite the custom, Georgie was not going to allow her daughter to continue being barefoot. The wood did nothing to hold back the cold, which the Japanese tolerated much better than heat, and designed their houses accordingly. "You will put on your socks now!"

"Mama, they itch."

"We'll get you some cotton ones when we go to town," she said. "Now come here!"

She was still forcing the split-toe socks onto Alison's tiny feet when the door slid open and Geoffrey entered.

"Papa."

"Hey. You have your mother in a tangle, don't you?"

Georgie continued her work until Alison had socks on her feet and a scarf around her neck. "Have you seen Mugen-san yet?"

"He's probably not home from last night."

"I don't remember him going out."

Geoffrey shrugged. It was the second week since Mugen's arrival, and usually he either rose late or returned late in the morning from falling asleep on some tavern table. By the middle of the day he was usually ready to go, and could work Georgie until dinner or when she was ready to pass out, whichever came first. Sometimes Danny and Sanjuro would watch, usually in awe. Mugen was as unbelievable a fighter as Geoffrey remembered him being.

"Jorgi-san," Kiso said, appearing at the entrance to their quarters with a low bow. "Mugen-san has requested your presence in the woods today."

Geoffrey gave Georgie a skeptical eye as she slung her real sword over her shoulders and picked up two wooden ones. "You look like your father when you look at me like that."

That was enough to shut him up. She kissed Alison and stepped outside, into the blast of cold air.

The woods were especially unforgiving. The area wasn't farmed because it was so uneven and filled with stones from the mountain, too much so to be flattened into a field. "Sensei." She bowed at Mugen, who was sitting on a stump.

"I never told you to call me that." He didn't look at her, though he had been aware of her approach. She expected no less of him. He stood. "I don't have any parting words. I was never any good at that shit."

"_Nani_?" ("_What?_")

"See, this is why I said that." He looked at the sky, as if he was searching for something. "Goodbye." He turned, quite obviously, to leave.

"Wait! What are you talking about? What about my training?"

"I'll give you this: you're smart enough to realize that I'm not going to train you now."

He was walking away, but she was faster, running in front of him and bowing to his feet. "What did I do? Where did I fail?"

"Oi, what did I say? I said I didn't want to talk about it. Now you're making me repeat myself." He walked around her, but she grabbed his arm.

"You can't do this to me! I came all the way to Japan – "

"I can do whatever the fuck I want," he said. "I've never listened to anyone, certainly not a gaijin. Now get out of my way!" He threw her off with a flick of his wrist, and continued walking.

She picked herself up, dumbfounded. "What did I do wrong?"

"Is this where you want to be?" he said. "Kind of a depressing place, isn't it?" He looked up again, bothered by some bird flying from branch to branch.

"I have nowhere else to go." But what was the point? What was the final lesson? "I can't wait. I need it now!" she said. Her voice was eerie. She looked up at the world, upside down. "I can't go without it. Mugen, you bastard, you can't leave me! You left me once, to gaijin who drink tea and get married and don't understand _anything_!" It came from nowhere, but she didn't stop it. "I hate you for what you made me! I hate you!"

She dropped the wooden swords. There was no pretense of that. Though he made no move to do so, his blade was drawn by the time she reached him, and he spun around to lock it. Their blades locked, and it became a battle of pure strength.

"I don't want to fight you," he said, and pushed her off.

Georgie was not going to give him the chance to argue over it. She swung again, and he blocked, tossing her to the side, where she fell into a tree. "I hate you!" She picked herself up, digging her geta into the dirt, and hurled herself at him again.

This time, she was ready for his deflection. She ducked under it, and around, swinging at him again, on the other side. He parried again, and she looped around him, backing off to catch her breath and avoid his ki. She took only a moment for rest, or he would escape, and she didn't want him to escape. At that moment, she wanted to cut him open, let him feel the pain she felt when there was death inside her.

The tip of the blade came right up to his stomach before he slammed down on it, the force of it breaking his own far inferior blade, leaving the hilt and a stub. He stepped on her blade, and hit her in the chest with the back of his hilt. She stumbled back, and he stepped into a more defensive stance, ready to block with the remains of his sword.

The blood began to seep through his torn kimono. She had broken the flesh just enough for a trickle, to prove that he might act like an inhuman monster, but he could still bleed. Despite his shock, he was still ready for her. Deflect, deflect, deflect. That was all he did, even though she could still feel the sting from where he struck her. He held her at bay with just his broken sword.

"I won't let you leave me," she growled.

"You don't understand what you're saying, little girl."

"Yes. I. Do!" She swung, and he ducked. Something did go flying – his topknot. His hair fell down, free of the string that held it in place, and he tripped her. She caught herself before she fell, and somersaulted back into stance.

Georgie tightened her grip around the hilt of _his_ sword, the sword he had given _her_, that had once belonged –

There were so many things she understood and did not, but remained forever on the tip of her tongue, and now she found one of them. Her sword, an extension of herself, as it had always been, was raised when she charged. His motions to block would be futile. He tried and succeeded in blocking with the small remains of his blade, but the connection of their swords meeting was enough for her to transfer the pain inside her to him. Let him know.

The moment broke, and she stepped back, then collapsed to her unsteady knees, dropping the sword. Her hands stung, and she looked down to find them bleeding where the palm had gripped the sword. "What's this?" Her master would tell her.

Mugen did not. "Sensei!" Her cries went unheard as Mugen sunk to the ground, and she crawled forward, to cradle his still form as the first snowflakes fell on her head.

* * *

"Georgie," Geoffrey commanded, "drink."

The tea was hot, and burned all the way down her throat, but she didn't mind. She held the cup in her bandaged hands. She couldn't seem to get warm. Geoffrey put another kimono over her shoulders, one of the heavier ones.

"Here," Danny said, handing her the prayer beads, now washed of the blood. She put her head forward, and he hung them over her like a necklace. "He's still on the porch."

"Is he all right?"

"I think so. It's just a little cut. And the wounds on his hands, but he already has a lot of scars there, so I don't know – "

She rose for the first time since her arrival from the long walk back to the house, when she had been carrying her fallen sensei. "I didn't mean to," she said over and over again. "I'm so sorry." Geoffrey let her cry into his sleeve. It took a long time for her to explain that her own wounds were somehow self-inflicted.

Using the sword as a staff, she went out to the porch against all advice. Mugen was sitting at the end, buried in blankets, with a now-cold pot of tea in front of him. She bowed to the wooden floor beneath her.

"Oi," he said. "Don't do that to yourself."

Geoffrey, who had followed her, helped her sit up. "Mugen – "

"I was telling the truth," he said. "I don't know how to say goodbyes. I didn't know how to say I was afraid to train you, Jorgi-chan, so I didn't." He was looking out at nothing. "Can I see the beads?"

This time she did not put up a fight. She willingly removed them from her person for the first time since taking them from the temple and put them in his hands. He stared for a long time.

"I hate fate. It's been so cruel to so many people. Especially you." He tightened his fist around them, then looked out again. "These were Master Hyuu's _O-juzu_ beads."

Neither of them had a response.

"Someone must have brought them here. Probably that stupid monk, the one I had to kill. He knew what he was doing, but he didn't know." He handed them back to her. "For the first half of my life, people wanted me dead because I was a stupid kid who didn't respect his elders. That's all right. I understand that. But since I left China, people have wanted me dead because of the secrets he taught me. That I always thought was unreasonable, but I could handle it. That's what I thought, until ten years ago, when I met someone who not only had to kill me over it, but could, if I wasn't so lucky. I don't want to pass that on. At least, not to you." He chuckled. "You stupid girl, you have to be the only one who I'm supposed to teach. You have to make it so obvious. It would be easier if I didn't like you. Then I wouldn't feel so bad."

"So your answer was to run away?" Geoffrey said, when Georgiana couldn't.

"Smart people have never liked me," Mugen said. "Like your father, Jeffrey. He was right to listen, when people said I was dangerous and untrustworthy. Also a coward, but he didn't know that. What kind of person runs from everything, never facing his challenges? Even the important ones." He finally turned, and looked at Georgie. His face was so pale, with barely any more color than he had when she carried him back. "You know if you'd hit me harder, you would have killed me."

"Yes."

"I'm lucky then, because you couldn't do it." He looked at his bandaged hands again. "Do you really want to continue? No, I don't suppose you have a choice. You made that decision a long time ago."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. So am I."

"She deserves an explanation," Geoffrey said. "Beyond the one you've already provided."

"I know. Sa, it's cold! Someone help me inside, and we'll continue. But this time, I'll try not to run." His old grin returned. "No promises."

...Next Chapter - Mugen's Tale Part 1

* * *

Chapter Notes:

- The samurai who appears in the opening scene is the same samurai who killed Tanaka in the bar.

- The raven is a symbol of death in Okinawan culture, as it is in many cultures.

* * *


	26. Mugen's Tale Part 1

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 26 - Mugen's Tale Part 1

With an unspoken truce between Geoffrey and Mugen in place, they were able to move him back inside. Danny lit a fire in the courtyard, and Geoffrey tended to his wife while holding his daughter back from playing in the snow.

Dr. Ogata finally arrived, and re-bandaged their wounds, including the one on Mugen's stomach. "Oi, what's this?"

"Another ruined shirt," Mugen said with a smile as the kimono was pulled back to reveal a hole on his side, just beneath his right rib cage. There was an exit wound on the other side. "It's an old wound – it was just reopened."

"Who did that to you?" Georgie asked.

"You did."

"I know that," she said shamefully. "Who did it originally?"

He gasped as Dr. Ogata tightened the bandage around it, but it stopped the bleeding. "Sa! That hurts."

"So sorry."

He waved the doctor off, and accepted hot sake from Kiso. "Just before I sent the sword to Brian-chan, I fought a samurai who was sent by the shōgun to assassinate me. It was a tie, so he let me go. Someday, we'll try to finish each other off." He gave her a brave smile. "But that's not today."

"And that's why you went into hiding," Geoffrey said.

"Hai."

"And the monks found you anyway?"

"They spent years, but they did. They were from the monastery where I had studied."

"The priest at Nagasaki said they wanted to ask you a question," Georgie said as she rested against Geoffrey's chest.

"They wanted to know the secret of Dim Mak, that our master taught me and not them. I showed them, and they died."

"Dim Mak?" Geoffrey asked.

"Death touch," Georgie said. "Liu Xiao told me about it in England."

"Who in the world would teach you something like that?" Geoffrey had to question. "That seems like a foolish thing to do."

"Funny; the others thought the same thing. But Master Hyuu didn't think so." He raised the bottle to Kiso. "Oi! If I'm going to tell this story, I'm going to need a lot more of this."

* * *

"I'm not going to talk about my early life. Who remembers shit from when you're a little kid? I just remember how miserable I was. I remember Ryūkyū – the islands, where I was born. I grew up speaking the language, till someone asked me, 'Hey kid, are you Japanese or native?' And I realized I didn't know the answer. There was an old man who said he knew my mother, and she was a native, but he didn't know my father, so maybe he was one of the prisoners ... Ryūkyū is part native, part penal colony for Japanese. They make silk. All the time, it was hot, but the sky was always dark.

"I told you once, maybe, I joined a gang. Anything to get out. They needed a kid they could pass as Japanese to be the lookout, and they were going to interrupt a trade ship from China, hit it before it landed in Japan. I don't remember the details. I was still a kid, really small, but bigger than a Japanese kid. As you can tell, we didn't become rich pirates. We all got caught, all my friends died. The magistrate decided my hands would be better for harvesting silk worms, so he had me tattooed and tried to send me back to the islands. I said I'd been to hell once, so there was no way I was going back. I fought them every inch of the way. I didn't have anything worthwhile to lose, even my life."

* * *

"Oi, kid, you're making this hard on me." The samurai official kept the kid whose name he never bothered to learn literally under his foot, pressing down on his head with his sandal. "Do you think I want this job? Do you think I don't have better things to do with my time than making sure some criminal gets to the silk factories on time?"

In his heavy islander accent, Gen said, "Clearly not."

"Another smart remark like that – "

But it was not his first, nor would it be his last smart remark. Now thoroughly tied up in straw rope for the fifth time, he had little else to do. "I'm thirsty."

"What do I care?"

"I'm not going to shut up until you give me something to drink."

They waited on the docks, the two of them and an armed guard of attendants. "You're lucky your head isn't on a board right now."

"At least I wouldn't be thirsty."

"Shut up!"

"And I wouldn't have to put up with you."

The samurai pressed down harder, pushing Gen's skin into the wood of the dock. Gen swung his bound legs around, and managed to hit the samurai's other knee. Since the other foot was so unsteady, it was enough force to knock him over, and he toppled right into the water. The guards started laughing.

"Shut up!" the samurai said, emerging from the water. He drew his sword. "That's it. I don't have to even give a reason now." He raised his sword, but Gen turned on his side, so the sword only cut the bonds holding his hands behind his back. With his hands free, he grabbed the samurai's other sword, and stabbed him in the gut with it.

"Arrrrgh!" The samurai could not have died in a more undignified manner. Gen had only seconds to cut the ropes on his feet. He had one stroke of luck – the boat was arriving. He grabbed the samurai's long sword, which was still impaled in the wood of the dock, and held it up. He had never held a sword before, but at least he could look like he could.

"Stay back, samurai shit!" he said, holding the sword with one hand as he grabbed its scabbard from the dying samurai's obi with the other and slung it into his. The guards were intimidated enough that they did stay back, long enough for him to jump on board, where he wildly stabbed and managed to hit the man commanding it. "Row!" he said to the oarsmen, and despite his stature, they listened. Maybe it was the bloody blade waved so recklessly before them that motivated them.

* * *

"I died at sea. That was what they must have said, I guess, to save face. When we got far enough out, nobody came after some kid with a sword worth more than he was. Remember how I said there were always dark clouds above me? It started raining – horrible rain. We didn't know which way we were going. Maybe I did die at sea, because there was a wreck, and maybe I've dreamt this all, and none of you exist. Well, enough of that philosophical crap."

* * *

He came to consciousness on a beach. It was unfamiliar at first because it was beautiful, and second because there was nothing but green in either direction, not the tall mountains of Japan or the volcanic rock of the islands. He'd laid there for some time, again the survivor of many, his rags reduced to even less than rags. He collected the sword, and some of the money off the dead bodies. One of them had a water skin, and after his scavenging, he found himself exhausted.

He heard voices, so he hid. He didn't recognize the language at all – words that were short and shouted in a bizarre fashion, with spaces in between. When the men in silk robes came down to the beach, he saw why. They were Chinese. So foreign, they had to be. They had those long ponytails they were so famous for, that somehow looked more ridiculous than his little topknot. He hid in the bushes as they talked, not understanding a word.

The argument, whatever it was about, became heated, and they actually came to blows. Neither of them was armed, but their skills with their fists and legs were unlike anything he'd seen in Japan. He watched for a while, entranced by what he saw, until they seemed to come to a conclusion. That, or one of them spotted him – he didn't remember which.

Slowly he emerged, drawing and raising the heavy samurai blade. They laughed at him, and one of them did a repeat of the move he'd seen earlier. Why would he be so stupid to do that? Gen was ready for him, slicing the leg as it came towards him. The other one came with his fists – another move he'd seen just minutes before. He put his sword out and the stupid Chinese ran into it. When they were on the ground, he finished them off, and took everything, including the silk overcoat off one of them, and a small bag of items he didn't recognize.

* * *

"I don't know if I was stupid or inexperienced or sick from my journey to think I could fight my way through China, but I did. Didn't make it that far – one town over. But I made them feel every inch of ground they gained on me, until a group of monks swarmed me, and really beat me down. I didn't know at that moment why they didn't kill me. I felt like I wanted to die, but they somehow wouldn't let me."

* * *

He woke in the nicest prison cell he had ever been in. Hell, it was the nicest room he had ever been in. The walls were stone, the window closed with carved, wooden shutters that allowed peeks to the outside world, and his bed was for some reason gigantic and raised off the ground on blocks. He was bandaged, and too weak to move. As his eyes focused, he stared directly up at the painted picture of what he guessed was Buddha, but with red skin, staring back at him with a curious expression.

The Chinese medicine they made him drink was green, hot, and foul, but they were prepared to hold him down and make him swallow. Twice he tried to spit it up, and they covered his mouth and yelled at him in what he assumed was Chinese before leaving him. When he was strong enough to move, they tied him to the bed for the daily visit of food and water.

And food it was! His hands were broken from the various beatings he had endured on the way to this palace, so he had to lift the bowl to his mouth and just scoop the food in. White rice! Fish! So many other things he couldn't even name! He had never eaten so well in his life. He was sure he wasn't dead, because he didn't deserve so nice an afterlife.

After they had proven enough times they were capable of catching him and tying him back down to his bed, a truce was called, and he stayed where he was on the bed when they came in. They talked to him, but he didn't understand.

Finally they brought in an old man in different, more ornate robes. "What are you doing here?" he said in Japanese.

"How should I know?"

The man with the shaved head – a monk, like many of them were, the one that seemed to be in charge – nodded and the translator produced a little silver item. He opened it to remove a long scroll. "What are you doing with this?"

"I don't know. I took it from some guys who had it."

"Why?"

"It was in their bag. I didn't have time to mess around with everything."

"Can you read?"

"No. Where am I?"

The monk and the translator spoke between them, and finally the translator said, "You are in a monastery in Guangdong. The men you killed were students here. They were meant to carry this message, until you interrupted them."

"They attacked me first!"

The translator had nothing to say to that. They left him again.

He spent his days exploring every inch of his massive cage. There were paintings of Buddhist gods on all of the walls, or demons or whatever they believed here. He climbed up to the windows and looked out through the holes in the wooden shutters, and looked out at the Chinese countryside. He must have been on a mountain, because he looked down at an impossible fall, even if he managed to fit through the window. He was caught. He overturned the bed. He started hoarding the chopsticks, and one night he lit them on fire for his amusement. There was little else to do, except eat and sleep.

The translator returned, this time with another old man with a shaved head and a thin white goatee, like the hair was trying to escape his chin but failing to do so. He was holding the samurai's sword. "Is this yours?" the translator said.

"It is now."

"Who was the original owner?"

He spit on the ground. "I didn't get his name. You know samurai?"

"Yes."

"It was one of them."

The old monk spoke, and the translator said, "You killed the two students on the beach. How?"

"With that sword."

"Be more specific."

What did he have to lose? "I watched them fight. They were upset over something. Then when they found me, they used the same moves on me. They were idiots. So I killed them."

"You were trained with a sword?"

The monk was staring at him. He didn't like it. "No." He had wanted to lie, but he couldn't. The monk made it so he couldn't.

One day he woke and his door was open. He couldn't believe how stupid they were! Since he had been beaten into unconsciousness on arrival, he had never seen beyond the heavy door that kept him from the rest of the monastery, and he looked both ways before heading in the direction of the stairs. The stairs leading down had to take him out of here, if he was on a mountain. It was the most logical choice to make.

The monks in orange robes came at him. He avoided all of them. He didn't know all of their moves, but he knew if he stayed out of the way, he wouldn't get hurt, and he didn't need another beating. He made it down two stairways. He could see the door, painted green. It was massive and it was open just a slit. If he could possibly –

The old man was in front of him. He wasn't there before; the boy was sure of it. Positive. But suddenly he was there and he literally ran into the old man's palm, which knocked him back. He was out before he hit the floor.

* * *

When he woke, he could not think of a part of his body that didn't hurt. He tried to raise his hand, to wipe his eyes clean of whatever was in them, but he couldn't. He coughed up something. It tasted like blood.

They wiped his eyes for him, and he saw the cloth. His eyes were bleeding? He'd only been hit once! The monk moved away, and the old monk was standing there, alone now.

"You survived," the old monk said. He could speak Japanese! Why had he used a translator? "How did you do it?"

"I didn't survive my way out the door," he said. His throat hurt and his voice was barely more than a whisper. "Not good enough."

The old monk smiled. "Answer me seriously, boy: Have you ever studied martial arts?"

"No."

"Where are you from?"

"Hell."

The monk laughed. Gen didn't think it was funny, but he couldn't answer. He was too weak.

"My students, they call you a mushin animal, a mindless animal. They don't understand what the word Moo Shin really means – endless. Endless possibilities. Endless thinking. If you open your mind, you can learn anything." He laughed again. "I will call you Moo Shin."

He swallowed. "What did you do to me?"

"Properly, I tried to kill you. But I'm glad you survived."

He didn't understand, but he was too tired to try.

* * *

When he finally stopped coughing up blood, he began to eat more, and he began to regain his strength. It was slower than before. He wondered if they'd forgotten him, but they always brought him food, often when he was asleep, and gave him tea to drink. He lit a fire under the pot with used chopsticks to heat it. He made a game of tossing them at the Buddha on the opposite wall, trying to see what he could hit. It was a way to pass the time.

Finally the old monk came. "My name is Master Hyuu."

"You're the sensei here?"

"You already know that."

He nodded. "What do you want with me?"

"I'll tell you a secret: the others are scared of you. But don't use it to your advantage. Just save that knowledge for another time."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No, I didn't. How old are you?"

"I don't know."

"Where are you from?"

"Hell."

"You say that, but did it have another name?"

"Of course it did. I don't know it."

"So you are no one and from nowhere and of no age. I presume you also have nowhere to go."

'Moo Shin' couldn't meet that stare. He looked down, and that was all the response that was needed.

"You can stay here on one condition: you don't leave without my permission. You don't get to come and go. Otherwise you can leave, and try the land on your own. You'll have as much success as you had before, except this time your prison won't be so nice. What do you say?"

"What makes you think I'll keep my promise, if I promise to stay?"

"You don't have to, as I said. You can go, if you like. But you cannot return." He knocked on the door, and it was opened on the other side. "For now, keep your distance. You make other people nervous."

"I'm glad," he answered, and Master Hyuu laughed.

...Next Chapter - Mugen's Tale Part 2

* * *

Chapter Notes:

- The Chinese martial arts school of San Soo here has been made up. In real life, it was probably fictionalized by a Chinese immigrant named Jimmy Woo. The history he does claim about it originating in a now-defunct monastery in the Guangdong Province of Southern China is represented in this chapter.

* * *


	27. Mugen's Tale Part 2

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 26 - Mugen's Tale Part 2

'Moo Shin' did keep his promise, to his own surprise. He was given a little Chinese outfit made of soft silk, and he put it on, but he would not wear those black shoes. He thought they looked ridiculous. He walked around barefoot instead, as he often had back in Japan.

The monastery was a vast and ancient complex, carved from the mountainside and made of stone. All of the buildings he had ever known were made of some kind of wood, so this was impressive to him, as were the many statues of Buddhist deities, even if he thought they were ridiculous looking. He was fascinated by everything that was jade, and couldn't believe that the monks who didn't shave their head but kept their long queues would brush their hair with jade or ivory combs.

He stayed out of their way. That was easy enough, with all of the space, and there was the language problem. He didn't understand them and they didn't understand him, though he noticed they did call him mushin, so he went along with it. His name was his business. They rose earlier than he did, and were endlessly doing exercises or meditating, as he supposed monks did. They also did a great deal of what he presumed was business, as rich Chinese officials would appear at the door with reams of paper and huge stamps with red ink.

They stopped bringing his food to him, but they didn't make him scavenge in the kitchen. He sat at the long table with the monks, though no one would sit near him, and took his own meal. Maybe it was the food, but he was growing, and fast. His topknot got unruly, so he cut it, letting his hair fall as it would, and cutting it when it got too long so he didn't have to mess with it. When the translator came, he would sit with him and begin to learn Cantonese. He found the words hard to pronounce, especially as his voice cracked.

The only one who spoke directly to him was Master Hyuu. When the others were around, they swarmed their sensei, but when he caught Moo Shin alone, he talked to him, and asked him how he was doing, and if he was interested in watching their combat.

"I'm a foreigner too, you know," Hyuu said. "I am from Amdo."

"Never heard of it."

"It is in Tibet."

"Never heard of it."

He laughed. "Of course you haven't. But I'd never heard of Ryūkyū, either, so we're even."

It took him a moment to realize the obvious question. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, that is a long story. You wouldn't be interested."

He debated about it, and then said, "I would."

"I didn't have any parents, so I was raised in a monastery, like all orphan children in that land. I got tired of it and decided to leave, but I couldn't pass as someone from the east, so I went west, into the Middle Kingdom. Through happenstance, I found my way here, where the previous master took me in. And here I am. The monks here don't even know I'm not Chinese."

He saw no real reason to reveal Master Hyuu's secret. Besides, it was like a gift. He understood that much.

"You've never heard of the martial art we study here – San Soo. It's all about adaptation, not form. Even if you were Chinese, you might not have heard of it. The other arts are more popular."

"Why?"

"Some of it is politics. I understand in Japan, the monks used to be warriors with mighty armies that even the shōgun feared, but one of the shōguns had their temples destroyed, and now they have no armies. Here, that never happened. We are not quite so dramatic."

Other than his time with Master Hyuu, he was alone. When they caught on that his name was Moo Shin now, they came up with other names for him. They called him the master's pet. "Get away from me, stray dog!" said the cook, when he came in late at night for extra food. He had been called worse, and he could never remember not being lonely, so he was not unhappy.

He began to join the monks in their meditation, but he mostly fell asleep. He didn't see anything interesting about sitting quietly for several hours.

"Stupid Japanese, doesn't understand!"

He listened and said nothing. He was not yet proficient in Cantonese, but he didn't want them to know how much he knew. Since he was so accustomed to everyone ignoring him, it was easy to be silent.

Summer became fall, and then winter. It was much colder than he had ever experienced. He wrapped himself in blankets wherever he went, and he was often sick. This time when the students laughed, Master Hyuu hit them. "Show compassion, lover of Kwan Yin!" He was not compassionate in the way he treated them at that moment, when discipline was called for.

"Who is Kwan Yin?" he asked Master Hyuu in private.

The master merely pointed to the wooden statue, the one he had in his office. "The Bodhisattva of Compassion, in which this monastery is named. She was a student of the Amitabha Buddha, until she attained enlightenment, but she became a bodhisattva, choosing to stay on earth to teach others instead of remain in heaven."

"Your god is a woman?"

"A bodhisattva can assume any form necessary to rescue souls from ignorance. She is a source of unconditional love and mercy. Even those burdened with tremendous negative karma, from this life or a previous one, can find salvation in her arms."

The master appeared to be especially serious when he said this, and closed his hands to say a prayer before the statue. Moo Shin watched politely.

"I have prayed to her, I have tried to emulate her in all ways, but I lack the abilities to do so in this incarnation."

Moo Shin, who despite his age was not ignorant to the differences of the sexes, said, "You want to be reincarnated as a woman?"

Master Hyuu laughed. "No one has ever dared to say something like that to me, since I became master. If you were one of the students, I might be inclined to hit you! But I am not." He rose from his knees and wrapped his beads back around his wrist. "There is one other thing I ask of you in your time here, Shin. If for no one else, not even for Buddha himself, please show proper respect for Kwan Yin."

Moo Shin nodded. "Hai, Sensei."

As the seasons changed, so did he. He was taller, harrier, and he could not understand some of the things that were happening to him. He requested for the first time permission to leave the monastery, if only to visit the outside world and make some sense of himself, promising to return. Master Hyuu granted permission, and he went down to the villages, where he was seen as exotic and interesting. He used this to his advantage, and learned firsthand the true nature of the sexes with some of the more curious village girls, having tired of the willing young men at the monastery -

* * *

"We can stop there," Geoffrey said, looking down at his wife and daughter. Alison had fallen asleep in her mother's arm.

"Ah, gaijin are such prudes," Mugen said, turning to Sanjuro. "Their aunt and uncle are the same way. I never got them together in a three – "

"Enough!" Georgie said, and covered her daughter's ears. "Can you continue, Mugen-sensei?"

"Hai, hai, if you want it to be boring."

"We do," said a red-faced Danny. "Very boring."

Mugen grumbled and put down another sake bottle. "Fine."

* * *

When he returned, the monks were carrying up a large package, much bigger and heavier than any of them. Lacking else to do, Moo Shin grabbed part of the wooden platform beneath it and helped them hoist it up the many staircases leading to the monastery proper. Master Hyuu was waiting at the top, looking pleased at the progress, and directed them to a new stone by the entrance. They set it down and two monks lifted the box up onto the stone, then pulled away the walls of the box and removed the drape.

It was a stone statue, but not of any god or Buddha that Moo Shin recognized. It seemed an ordinary Chinese, queue and all, in temple monk robes. He was standing but staring out serenely, one hand raised in the gesture of blessing. Moo Shin looked around, and all of the monks, including Master Hyuu, were kowtowing to it. He gave a little bow, and held it until they all stood.

"Show more respect," said one of the monks. Moo Shin was fairly sure his name was Bai. "This is Hmang Shin."

"Why should I? I don't know him." But when he turned, he could see the sorrow on Master Hyuu's face, staring up at the serene stone monk.

"Enough," the master said. "Back to practice, all of you!" But he stayed, and so did Moo Shin, but some distance away, watching as Hyuu removed from his robes a set of beads and placed them over the shoulders of the statue. He was silent for a long time. When he did speak, knowing of course that Moo Shin was there, his voice was laden with sadness. "This was my student, the one I failed. He was to be my successor."

"What happened to him?"

"When he came here, lost and abandoned, I knew in an instant who he was. He was the reincarnation of my teacher, and he had returned to his home to continue our tradition. In the ten years he was with us, I dedicated everything I had to training him; even I was not nearly so old then as I am now. But I was too zealous, and I taught him the secret of San Soo before he was ready."

"The secret of San Soo?"

"Every monastery has their secrets," he said. "You know it already. I tried to kill you with it. Well, not kill you – but very close." He raised his palm. "I pushed you back with the power that was inside me, not my hand. If I had committed anything else of myself, it would have shattered your bones from the inside."

Moo Shin said, "I don't believe you."

"So you say." Hyuu looked back up at the statue. "I taught it to Hmang Shin when he was still young. I didn't see any reason to wait. He mastered it too quickly, and killed another student by accident during a simple exercise. He was then so driven with grief that he said he could never be forgiven, not even by Kwan Yin, so he threw himself off the balcony, and his body disappeared into the mountainside below. It was fifteen years ago, next month."

"I'm sorry."

Master Hyuu had a very sad smile on his face. "There is no reason for you to be."

* * *

Shortly before winter set in, a train of officials arrived to do an inventory. They turned over every cabinet, recorded every item and its possible worth. They asked of Master Hyuu right in front of Moo Shin, "Is he your servant?"

"No."

"He is not property of the temple?"

"He is not."

They wrote that down, too.

Since the master was so busy, Moo Shin did not bother him. He asked a student instead, "What is going on?"

"The inventory, for what they're going to take. Don't you know that?"

"Why do they get to take everything?"

The student, Chen, looked at him as if he were mentally impaired. "After the dissolution."

"What?"

"Do you even know why you're here? You Japanese really are idiots."

He held back his clenched fist. "Please tell me."

"You really don't know. All this time! Maybe he just thought you knew." Chen shook his head. "That scroll you brought two years ago was a message from the Emperor's Council. Upon Master Hyuu's death, this monastery is to be dissolved. He may not take on any new students or make major purchases. In fact, you were the last, justified only because you're not really a student, and because you arrived before he read the scroll. You were a technicality." He sneered, "Your news destroyed this place."

"What will happen to you? Why is anyone still here?"

"Master Hyuu will surely pick a successor to teach the secret of San Soo to, before he dies. That person won't go on to lead this monastery, but who knows? So we all swore to remain by his side until the end. Some of us even wanted to go raid the Shaolin temple that probably was behind the order, but Master Hyuu refused his permission."

Moo Shin found Master Hyuu as soon as he was alone, and explained what he had heard.

"It is true," Hyuu said, fingering his prayer beads. "For years, we have feuded with the Shaolin, because my master refused to teach them Dim Mak, and made me promise to do the same. It became a political battle, and they won. The message the students you killed were carrying contained the final ruling of the Son of the Heaven. When I die, this will all end." He offered a smile, but it was weak. "All life is impertinence. Nonetheless we have both come to rely on this place as a refuge on our journeys, and the day will come soon when we both must leave. Promise me something, Moo Shin."

He bowed. "Of course, sensei."

Master Hyuu stepped closer to him. "Do not show the others how talented you are."

"I don't understand."

"They are nervous, and it will only get worse, as my days grow shorter. They all are here because they want to be my successor and carry the ancient secret with them when they leave. Some have dreams of killing the Shaolin master who ordered this. Others want fame and fortune. Some are noble, but they will not understand. I have only to concern myself with my next life, but you still have this one. You must protect yourself."

He didn't understand, but he nodded anyway.

* * *

The winter that set in was not an easy one. The cold didn't bother Moo Shin this time around. He had adjusted over the years. He was preoccupied, throwing himself into training with the same fervor and urgency that the others did, but always he remembered Master Hyuu's words. _Protect yourself_. He could not stand to have them any madder at him than they already were, simply for his intrusive presence. He even managed to be on good terms with some of them, because he was willing to be out in the snow for long hours, training when everyone else was tired, and was a good sparring partner because he lost most of the time. When he was alone, and exhausted, he wondered if they knew he was throwing his fights. It was harder than to win them. He deserved to win them, didn't he? Fortunately, Master Hyuu was there to put him in his place, because when they sparred privately, he never even came close to winning. The old man was still stronger and faster than he was.

"I am neither of those things," Master Hyuu said. "If I was using my muscles, I would lose."

Late at night, when Moo Shin was too exhausted to move, he sat on a pillow in Master Hyuu's private study, as the old monk began to draw on the floor with chalk.

"Here," he said, drawing a circle around the torso of the outline of a man. Precisely, it was roughly were one's stomach growled. "From here, all ki emanates. The lines go up and down our body like this." He drew the lines so carefully that they came out straight, even though his hands were shaking. "When we are ill, the acupuncturists come in, because the lines are blocked, or not flowing well, and they put in needles. The needles are metal, and the metal acts like a lightening rod, drawing the energy up to the skin and invigorating it. In this small way, they manipulate someone else's ki to the patient's benefit. It is much easier than for the patient themselves to do it. In fact, it is nearly impossible. But not entirely."

During the day, the students trained with tai chi swords, which unlike the unbending katanas were hilariously flexible. At night, Moo Shin and Master Hyuu fought each other, and destroyed a number of swords in the process. Moo Shin learned to stitch himself up, so he would not have to bother the healer with mysterious wounds. He did not take anything for the pain. He did not want anything to dull his mind.

That summer, Master Hyuu developed a cough, and it sent the place into a panic. They brought him so much medicine it made him ill, and when he finally convinced them to go away, he recovered. The meetings with their master became charged. The students openly begged him to choose a successor. Some of the younger or less qualified students, knowing they would never be chosen, left before the winter. By first snow, it was down to the serious candidates and those who had dedicated their lives to the monastery and promised to see it through to the end. The sky was never bright that winter, even when it wasn't snowing. It was always cloudy and the nights were always long and cold.

Moo Shin, who was not Chinese, taught himself to shave, because otherwise he would have the beginnings of a beard. He nicked himself often, to the amusement and jealousy of the others, who could only hope to grow a goatee perhaps in their lifetime. His old suspicions that his mother had been a Ryūkyū islander and his father Japanese were only that much stronger. He knew the non-Japanese, like the Ainu and the Okinawans, were a hairy bunch.

He was pulling his own stitches one night when there was a knock on the door. "Come." He covered himself up quickly and rose, then bowed to greet his master. They were not supposed to meet tonight, as far as he knew, but he followed him silently anyway, past the student quarters and up to the highest room, the abandoned attic, where statues of older and forgotten, or even broken Buddhas littered the place, except for a space in the middle.

On the stand was a long item wrapped in silk that could only be a sword. They sat down on the floor like Japanese, and Master Hyuu unwrapped it. It was the samurai's katana. Moo Shin hadn't seen it since early after his arrival, now years ago. The object was foreign to him. He watched Master Hyuu untie the lacing and knock out the pin, removing the hilt and showing the naked blade. "I've been polishing it."

"You didn't have to do that."

"You see, here," he said, pointing to the hame line, where one could see a wave where the metal had melted differently in the forging process. "Once, very long ago, a Japanese sword smith explained to me why their blades were superior. There are two types of metal here, one made harder and one made tougher, and then one is inserted into the other, which is why one edge is thicker than the other, and when they are combined and put into water to cool, their forces cause them to curve. The harder one makes the blade good to strike with, but it is so stiff that it can break if hit by a force stronger than itself. The tougher one bends just a little, so that the stronger force is absorbed by the tougher metal, allowing the stronger metal to continue to live on and destroy one's enemies."

Master Hyuu had with him his own blade, and he smashed it before Moo Shin's eyes, and removed the hilt. After wrapping it several times, he inserted it over the katana, creating a new blade. "There are further alterations I need to make, but the smith is not here yet, and we must really begin."

He drew the lines again, and showed Moo Shin things he could only begin to grasp. They were so easy in concept, so difficult to perform. Could he really control his own energy lines?

Every night, Master Hyuu fought him. He was relentless. "Again!" With his sword, Moo Shin could not hit him. "Again!" How was a dying master keeping himself so awake? Moo Shin usually emerged at breakfast exhausted, and became an expert at sleeping soundly during meditation. Usually pain woke him up, even if it was soreness. Surely the others noticed something? Or were they too busy trying to impress their master?

"You were asleep," Master Hyuu said to him one night. "I didn't wake you when the smith came." He unveiled the blade, pressed it against his head, and handed it to Moo Shin, who did the same. "Try it."

Moo Shin swung down. It was perfect. "I don't know how to thank you."

As usual, Hyuu ignored the comment. "Soon I must name my successor. By that time, you must already be gone, or they will kill you." He never officially said what they both knew, which was the reason they were up late.

"Sensei," he said, "what if you're wrong? What if I am just an escaped criminal?" He had to admit it. "I don't believe in reincarnation."

"So you say."

"I don't! I have my own beliefs."

"I know, Hmang Shin," he replied. It wasn't the first time he got their names confused. "And fate will always be there to accommodate itself to your pride."

Moo Shin grumbled, but didn't respond.

"Will you promise me one more thing?"

"Anything."

"Give the secret only to your successor."

He swallowed. "How will I know? I won't even be in China, maybe."

"It will be as obvious as it was to me."

As the winter receded, so did Master Hyuu's health. The ground was still white when he began to shrivel away like the snow out the window. Upstairs, beside the many broken statues and faded paintings, he showed Moo Shin how to perform Dim Mak, nearly killing Moo Shin in the process – or it felt that way, for those few seconds. Then he collapsed, and Moo Shin carried his master back to his chambers, to find Master Hyuu had packed a bag for him, and refurbished the old scabbard for the sword. In the pack were some of the items from the wreck that had washed up on the beach – a man's geta sandals, an obi that was in reasonable condition – and other items Moo Shin would need for the journey.

"The true master of San Soo," Master Hyuu said, "is a master not of a martial art, but of adaptability to other forms. With an endless mind, you can learn anything, and if you do it quickly enough, you can defeat any enemy with their own moves. That is the real secret of San Soo – not Dim Mak, which has its uses, but is just another weapon." He took Moo Shin's hand, which was bigger than his. "It was good to see you again, Master Lee." Moo Shin didn't have the heart to contradict him. "I will try to make my way to you again soon."

Moo Shin tightened his grip.

"You have a day. I can give you that. It is enough of a head start, I think. Plus there will be some commotion after my death." He laughed. "Yes, I imagine so. Don't look so serious, Shin. If only you would believe, you would know we are only saying a temporary goodbye. Besides, the only way to face the day, with all of the suffering in the world, is to be light of heart. Laughter is the speech of the gods."

"Goodbye, Sensei."

"Goodbye, Shin."

Moo Shin waited until his master was peacefully asleep, then made his exit, while the loyal monks of Master Hyuu slept on.

* * *

" – And I came to Japan. What else is there to say?" Mugen, thoroughly drunk but still coherent, tossed aside the last bottle. "I think – that is enough for tonight?"

...Next Chapter - Keeping the Peace

* * *

Chapter Notes:

Kwan Yin, the Buddhist goddess/boddhisattva of Compassion to whom the monastery is dedicated according to legend, is alternately spelledGuanyin (Chinese), Kannon (Japanese), Gwan-eum (Korean), and Kuan Eim (Thai) _. Artwork of her can be found in my flicker account._

* * *


	28. Keeping the Peace

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 28 – Keeping the Peace

Dr. Ogata stayed through the night and most of the next day, mainly at Geoffrey's insistence. Georgie and Mugen both slept through the day, so Geoffrey and Danny had time to answer any other questions the doctor had on the medical book. He lit incense next to Mugen, who was vastly sicker, but admitted it was mainly because the ill preferred nice smells. He was happy that Georgiana did not require stitches on her hands, and that the marks were just surface wounds. By the late afternoon she was up, and he turned his attention to Sanjuro, who was not weathering the cold very well, and needed to remain in bed.

"Mama, I made this for you," Alison said, and held up her hands, releasing a burst of paper.

"What's this?"

"Snow!"

"It _used_ to be part of someone's notebook," Geoffrey said, standing above her.

Georgie picked up one of the pieces and recognized the English paper and Geoffrey's handwriting. "I see."

"It's all right – it got a smile out of you," Geoffrey said, but didn't smile at his daughter. "But no more snow."

Georgie dressed for dinner, putting on a heavy woman's kimono and socks before leaving their room. Dinner was hot, salty fish dishes, and a little milk from the cow. "What do you think?"

"I think the best Christmas present I could receive would be a steak," Geoffrey said, chewing on a rice ball. "If we can even figure out when that is."

"Our English bones haven't withered away yet," Georgie said, and took a rice ball to the face. "Alison!"

Alison giggled and scampered away. She would have made it out the other door as it opened, but Mugen was standing there, leaning on a real staff now. "Oi, Ali-chan, where are you going?"

"Away from me," Georgie said, wiping the sticky rice from her face.

Mugen took Alison's hand and led her back to the tray of food, seating himself between the Darcys. "When did you become so tough? She's just a little kid."

Georgie responded by tossing her next rice ball in Mugen's face, hitting him square between the eyes.

"Ach! Some kids never learn," he grumbled and turned to the food in front of him.

* * *

To their surprise, Mugen disappeared some time after the meal, and Kiso informed them he had gone to town.

"I suppose I should, too," Geoffrey said. It stopped snowing late the night before, and was warmer out.

"Usually village constables don't come unless called."

"How do you know? Do you know any?"

"Not as friends," she said. "I would go with you – "

He leaned over and kissed her. "Don't even think of it. Get some rest."

"Will you watch over Mugen?"

"Perhaps with a different intent, but yes." He walked quietly past his daughter, who was already asleep, put on a scarf and a hat, and stepped out into the night.

He was familiar with Imbe – and they were familiar with their Okappiki. He turned down offers for drinks, except for tea to keep him warm. "Have any of you seen Mugen-san?"

"Who's he?"

"Is he that criminal? The one with the beard?"

"Hai."

The drunk next to him laughed. "I don't know why you keep that piece of shit around."

Geoffrey was curious as to how many enemies Mugen had succeeded in making in so short a time. "What did he ever do to you?"

"Why does he have to do anything? He's worthless. I'm only a merchant; samurai would spit on my grave for stealing their money. Even farmers can look down on me, but I'm not trash. You should put him to work doing something useful, like leatherworking."

"I don't think he likes being told what to do."

"Then he's going to meet the business end of a sword one day!"

"We'll see," he replied, and finished his tea. "Have a good night."

"Good night, Okappiki-san."

If he wasn't with the drunks, there was only one other place that immediately came to Geoffrey's mind, distasteful though it was. How did Mugen have it in him? The day before he lay at death's door. Fortunately, like everything else, the Japanese kept their houses of prostitution clean and their customers relatively quiet. Geoffrey kept his head down and bowed to the passing samurai, sneaking down from the castle-town for a night's entertainment away from the prying eyes of their friends and family. Geoffrey was familiar with the type.

"You scum! Get out of here!"

The woman's screams concerned him more, though they were of concern and not pain. He rounded the corner to find Mugen being flung through a doorway and onto the ground below, and a well-dressed woman rushing through to him. The samurai who had done the shouting had his long sword drawn as he stepped down to ground level, still barefoot and swaying drunkenly.

"What's this?" Geoffrey said, drawing his jutte. Even though his pistol was his real weapon, the jutte was the sign of his status.

"Get out of my way!" the samurai said, pushing Geoffrey back. "You know who I am, stupid gaijin?"

Geoffrey patiently bowed. "Do you have a dispute with this man?"

"He's taken my geisha!"

Mugen picked himself up off the ground, using his cane to do so. "I paid her in full before you even came in."

"That doesn't matter. I won't take your – " and used a term Geoffrey didn't know, but didn't feel compelled to ask about. The samurai raised his katana above his head and swung at Mugen. The geisha screamed as Mugen rolled out of the way, pushing her with him.

Geoffrey stepped in, to the side and not in front of the blade. "Samurai-sama, you cannot kill this man."

"What kind of okappiki are you? Of course I can!" He shoved Geoffrey aside with an elbow, but before he swung again, Mugen reached forward and pulled the samurai's own short sword from his belt and used it to block the longer one.

Seeing no alternative, Geoffrey drew his pistol and fired into the air. That was enough to stop them both from killing each other. "Please, sirs, step away from each other."

The samurai grumbled. "You have no right to interfere."

"You have no right to kill him."

"I have every right! He's scum of the earth. I only have to – "

"You only have to justify yourself afterwards," Geoffrey said. "And you'll have some trouble finding justification, even in the case of this particular man, considering you are robbing him of the money he paid this geisha by killing him now. For all I know, it was a conspiracy between the two of you!" He gestured with his jutte between the samurai and the geisha. "There are plenty of other geisha here for you, Samurai-sama. Now please take your business elsewhere."

The samurai hesitated, then replaced his blade. Mugen thrust the other one into the earth for the samurai to retrieve, and he was on his way. The geisha helped Mugen up. Mugen, not so steady on his feet, bowed to Geoffrey, then reentered the house. Geoffrey forced himself to turn away and return to the streets. "There is nothing to see here. Go back to your homes, all of you!"

He sat on the porch of a tavern for some time, warming his hands with a hot bottle of sake. Eventually he gave into the temptation to drink it, foul as it was, but was only two mouthfuls through when Mugen emerged from down the road, walking a little easier now, but still leaning on the cane for strength. He sat down beside Geoffrey, and poured a dish of sake for himself. "They give you good stuff."

"Don't tell them I can't tell the difference," he said. "You didn't have to fight that samurai."

"Are you serious? He would have killed me. Were you paying attention at all?"

"I mean, he is a samurai. You could have let him go first."

"Why should I? I paid first, I go first. Don't let all of this talk of rank go to your head. Or does it even really need to walk so far to get there? I've seen your grand palace. There are shōguns who would slit their bellies if they were promised Pemerli in the afterlife."

"Pemberley."

"Whatever." He poured himself another dish, and knocked it back. "If I start listening to them about who I am supposed to be, I will have nothing. _Nothing_. In here." He tapped himself on the chest. "A mixed race convict? Who would want me, if I didn't at least want myself? No one."

"That must be lonely," Geoffrey said.

"You just realized this now? Where have you been, Jeffrey-chan?"

* * *

_Dearest Niece and Nephew, Georgiana and Geoffrey Darcy,_

_I certainly hope this letter finds you well, as our lives depend on it. Similarly, we are well in Edo. Brian is on his absolute best behavior, not out of any sense of duty to the shōgun (and he has certainly never listened to me before on this) but in the greater interest of your security. He complains that this has left him with very little to do, but I would argue with that. We have been given considerable freedom in the city for foreigners, especially in visiting the main merchants that Brian does business with or hopes to do business with. He keeps begging me to learn fan dancing, but I must keep reminding him that I am not a whore. _

_Now on to the more serious news: Please send our warmest regards to Mugen, and beg him to visit us in Edo or Dejima, whichever way you travel to return to us. There was much joy here to hear that he is alive and well, and succeeded in locating you, as it seems from your description that locating him was impossible. _

_This letter must pass through several officers, so I have been advised not to make it too long and will end here by saying two things. First, we are shortly expecting letters that arrived in Dejima from India, quite possibly from the family, and will be forwarding them on. Second, the date indicated below is corresponding to the tenth of November to help you calculate a specific date in December, if you wish to know. _

_All Our Love,_

_Her Highness Princess Nadezhda Maddox_

_Brian Maddox_

In a different hand was written:

_P.S. I did not call her a whore. All my love, Brian._

"It's so strange," Georgie said, "that I've never wanted to celebrate Christmas more, now that I can't do it properly."

"Oi, Christmas?" Mugen said from over by his pile of swords they had collected from Tanaka's gang. He was going through them, trying to calibrate out the decent ones. "Is that the holiday where we get gifts? Because I wouldn't be opposed to that."

"You have to give them as well," Geoffrey said. "'Tis better to give than receive."

"Bullshit."

"Sensei!" Georgie covered Alison's ears.

"Ah, so what, that she knows some curses in Japanese? Your parents won't know the difference. Wait, maybe Bingley-san will. Well, he's not hard to push around."

"_Sensei._"

"All right, all right." He picked up another blade from the pile, a longer one, and ran his thumb against the edge. "Still sharp. Just rusty. Good enough for practice."

"I am sorry for destroying your sword," Georgie said.

"Forget it. Cane blades are always inferior. If there's one decent katana here I'll be happy. If not, I'll take Sanjuro's blades when he dies, if he doesn't give them to Dani-chan."

"Mugen!" Georgie hissed, and looked around. Sanjuro was not around, and Danny was in his room.

Mugen shrugged. "He knows it, I know it. He's samurai; death isn't a surprise to him. He might even want it, crazy bushi." (_warrior_)

"What about you?" Geoffrey said. "Aren't you a warrior?"

"But I'm not a samurai. Besides, I've seen Nirai Kanai a couple times now, and I always walked away."

Geoffrey looked at his wife, but she only shrugged. Mugen seemed to be perfectly serious, and went about his business. "This one is crap. But, good for practice." He set it in the 'bad' pile.

The next day, Geoffrey took Danny with him when he made his rounds. Danny obviously was depressed over Sanjuro's decline and needed fresh air. Finally there was a use for geta, especially very high ones, to keep their feet out of the snow and slush. At his normal pace, Geoffrey had no problem in them whatsoever, even when Danny looked unsteady, but he could not imagine how he could run.

They bowed to the passing priest, returning from some errand, probably a visitation for a sick person. "O-priest-sama."

"Okappiki-san, Dani-san." He bowed. He always had a quiet smile on his face.

"We were about to stop for some tea to warm up," Geoffrey said. "Would you care to join us?"

"Hai, sir. Thank you for your kindness."

Geoffrey knew a teahouse that was generally empty at this time of day. With the snow, they were the only customers, and were served quickly. Where it once seemed silly, removing one's shoes now made sense, as their geta were filthy from the road, and the floors kept immaculate.

"If you would permit me, Okappiki-san, I have long noticed now that you have the walk of an old man."

Danny smothered his laughter with his kimono sleeve. Geoffrey simply hid his expression behind the dish. "Excuse me – what do you mean by that?"

"It is a compliment – though I admit, not a very common one. I can understand if there is confusion. When you walk, it is very careful, like there is wisdom in every step. You know when to be slow and when to be fast. I would assume if I met you now it is because of your particular position, but you have always walked like that."

He bowed. "I am honored." He added, "A little confused, but honored."

"In my monastery, we had a visiting monk from another sect who was a master of walking meditation. It would take him an hour to get from one end of this room to the other, but he would achieve the full meditative state while moving, whereas we would have to sit quietly to do the very same."

Geoffrey mumbled, "I am not always so steady on my feet."

"All life is suffering. It is through mindful actions that we achieve Enlightenment, and relief from all sufferings."

"What if someone is truly good, and still suffers?" Danny asked before Geoffrey could get the chance.

"He could be suffering for crimes from his past lives. Karma, good and bad, follows a person from one life to the next."

Geoffrey bowed. "I am sorry, but I cannot agree with you on this matter of reincarnation."

"You do not have that in the West?"

"No."

"That is very sad. It is very hard for a person to attain Enlightenment in a single lifetime."

"Perhaps it is not Enlightenment we seek, but eternal peace."

"They are one in the same."

They could not discuss Christianity with him. The magistrate of Dejima was very clear about that. Instead Geoffrey poured himself more tea. "What is Nirai Kanai?"

"Nirai Kanai? I have not heard of – oh. Excuse me." He smiled. "It has been a long time since my days in a monastery. I have heard of it, but it is not one of our beliefs. The teachings of the Buddha arrived in Japan late, after many others." He had to think on it, and finally had time for his tea. "It is not a Shinto term. I believe it is an islander belief, from the south – Okinawa, maybe. It refers to the realm of the gods. Unfortunately I cannot tell you much more than that."

"A friend of ours said he was there several times."

"Impossible! Unless I am mistaken, it is not a physical place. Either he is a ghost, or he has been on the verge of death."

Geoffrey nodded. "I suspect it is the latter."

* * *

When they returned, it was already getting dark. Mugen was resting, and Geoffrey found Georgie in their room, with Alison in her lap, pointing to words on the page. She had written out English words in broad strokes since they had no schoolbooks. "What does this say?"

"Ran!"

"Rain. See the I?"

"Ray-in."

"You realize you're talking to her in Japanese and making her read English?" Geoffrey grinned.

"I imagine we'll have to return to England some day, and I don't think the great works of literature have been translated into Japanese quite yet," she said.

After they'd eaten and put Alison to bed, they retired themselves. As Geoffrey redid the bandages around his wife's hands, he told her about his encounter with the priest. He had not told her about the night before, and the geisha.

"Mugen's always been like that. He doesn't make a big deal about bad things that have happened to him. And I brought him close to death myself," she said.

He grimaced and looked at her hands. "How are they?"

"Just sore now. They need time. Too much time, in my opinion."

He kissed her palms. "So I walk like an old man and you heal like one."

"He didn't mean it like that! And _you_ had better not mean it like that, Geoffrey Darcy."

"I'm not ready to be old just yet," he said, and she responded with a kiss.

...Next Chapter - Kogi's Bargain

* * *


	29. Kogi’s Bargain

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 29 – Kogi's Bargain

Mugen did not immediately return to serious fighting. He gave Georgiana other tasks to do, mostly for balance, but for the most part she sat on a mat, trying to meditate. He would watch her, or join her, and eventually fall off to sleep. He did not explain his methods, but he was quite serious about them, and that was explanation enough.

Geoffrey was on his way to check on Sanjuro, who was sitting up for the first time in days, when he heard another voice as he knelt down to slide the door open. He stayed where he was instead.

"Sa! That looks bad."

Geoffrey heard rustling of sleeves. "It's nothing. It's the cold."

"You'll be the stoic samurai to the end, won't you?" Mugen said.

"I don't have to keep it up much longer." Sanjuro laughed, but it turned into another coughing fit.

"Who are you going to give your swords to? Or do you want to be buried with them?"

"You greedy thug," Sanjuro replied, but it was with amusement. "I thought about giving them to Dani-kun, but he has the daisho from the samurai official killed in the caravan, and to be honest, those are better swords. And Jeffrey-san can't wield a sword."

"He's just afraid."

"You don't give him enough credit. Just because he married your so-called student – "

"Shut up! It isn't like that and you know it."

"You should give him more credit," Sanjuro said. "He's sick in his head. He gets dizzy when startled. I saw him once, after something happened to him. He couldn't even get up."

Mugen did not respond.

"He's almost deaf, too, I think. Something must have happened to him. But why would he tell you that? Anyway, that's probably why. Otherwise it just doesn't make sense." He sighed, attempting to catch his breath. "Do you want the daisho set or just the one?"

"I don't know yet, but none of the swords from Tanaka's gang are good enough to kill Kogi."

Sanjuro paused before speaking. "I don't have anything against Sir Kogi, if we're speaking of the same man I knew from Edo, but that doesn't mean you should just expose your neck for him. Unless something happens or I actually make it to the spring, I'll grant you my swords."

"Thank you, Sanjuro-san."

"Oi, what else can I do that's worthwhile?"

There was movement, so Geoffrey slid back, stood up, and then walked forward. Mugen opened the door from the inside, passed him with the briefest of glances, and left. Geoffrey sat down again and bowed nearly to the ground. "Sanjuro-san, I've brought some medicine for you."

"Come." Sanjuro was sitting up and properly dressed to receive him. "Thank you. You don't have to do servant's work, you know. That's what Kiso is for." He accepted the small jar and swallowed its contents, then set it on a tray. "Is it so different in the West?"

"Yes. In the West, I would have twenty Kisos." He sat down across from him. Sanjuro was sitting on his bed. His two swords – his daisho – were at the head of the mat, just above where his head would lay. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Better today. The cold is always a shock on everyone; why should it be any different for me?" While he didn't understand the foreigners and didn't attempt to, he was always extremely cordial. They had spared his life and provided for him. "I told Dani I am still not up to any more training. He was very polite about it, but he was like a lost puppy."

"He has no one else. I understand that Mugen's style is too different. And Mugen is busy with Georgiana."

"Hai, Dani wants to learn to fight like a samurai, and Mugen can only imitate it. Besides, he has his hands full with your wife." He added. "I mean that in the most respectful sense."

"Of course. I am beginning to understand it, but my instincts are otherwise."

"If I was married, I wouldn't let anyone look at my wife, much less sit with her in private and train her to fight! You have great faith in people."

It struck Geoffrey as an odd notion, but perhaps from a certain perspective, he was. He felt like he was being a bit too protective. Georgie chided him constantly for it. "I have to swallow my pride sometimes. Besides, I knew Mugen as a small child, so he never seemed so threatening. And he was there for Georgie when she was small, and needed a friend who understood her. For that I can never repay him." He sighed. "I feel like Danny might need the same thing."

"If going blind is like dying, then I understand him," Sanjuro said with a chuckle. "Nonetheless, he does need a teacher, and I don't know of one here, nor do I know of a school that will take foreigners."

"Let me know if you think of anything, regardless," Geoffrey said. He stared at his hands for a second and braced himself before saying, "May I speak with you in confidence?"

"Of course, Jeffrey."

"Who is Sir Kogi?"

"So you heard that, eh? I thought you were almost deaf. And I suppose you heard me say that, too."

"Only in one ear," he said. "And I apologize. I meant to enter and I heard you talking. I didn't want to intrude."

Sanjuro changed positions, looking away for a moment. "I suppose since I told him one of your secrets, I will tell you one of his – or, something perhaps he has not mentioned to you. Actually I don't know much about how he is involved, but I can answer your question." He looked, for once, uncomfortable at the subject. "I don't know his full name. He must come from a samurai family, but for whatever reason, he doesn't use his family name. Nonetheless when I was in Edo, I knew of Sir Kogi. I may have even met him – there were times when I would see someone and someone would turn to me and say 'That was Sir Kogi!' But by then, he would always be gone."

"Who is he?"

"He is the chief of the shōgun's assassin squad, or he was for many years. There are all kinds of legends about him."

"He's ninja?"

"The shōgun would never admit to hiring a ninja. No, he's just a master of the blade. They say he studied in a school of monks, and in the end of his time there he fought a duel with the sensei and won. He spared him only if the sensei, who was also a priest, would grant him divine skill, and his sensei agreed."

"Why does Mugen want to kill Sir Kogi?"

"I think it's that Sir Kogi wants to kill Mugen. Sir Kogi is supposed to be undefeated, yet Mugen says they fought years ago, and the result must have been a draw for them both to be alive. Mugen is living on borrowed time, or he feels that way. Sir Kogi will come for him and this time, whatever luck was on his side might not be there."

Geoffrey folded his arms. "Do you know why he didn't tell us this?"

"Easy. He doesn't want you involved. Jorgi-san won't stand by and watch her sensei be murdered, will she? I've seen her fight. She'll get involved, and she won't survive. He's protecting her."

"I could shoot him."

"Mugen or Sir Kogi?" Sanjuro chuckled, but this quickly turned into another coughing fit. He kept a heavy cloth wrapped around one sleeve to bury his mouth in as he hacked up blood. Geoffrey helped him get upright by holding up his shoulder. "Thank you. I don't suppose you have a cure in that book of yours, or the doctor would have mentioned it."

"People die of consumption just as often in England, I'm afraid."

"So I figured. Anyway, I wouldn't try to involve yourself in the affairs of Sir Kogi, even from afar, unless you're prepared to be cut down. It's not worth the risk."

"It is noted," Geoffrey said. "Thank you, Sanjuro-san."

"Just think before you tell Jorgi-san. There will be consequences that Mugen has tried to avoid."

Geoffrey nodded, and swallowed uneasily.

* * *

"Sensei," Georgie said to Mugen, "I know you _said_ your sensei made you carry sake bottles back and forth on your head, but I'm having my doubts that they _need_ to be sake."

"They do! And don't spill!" he replied. "And get the good stuff."

"If you want more sake, you can just _ask_."

"No! It's important training!"

Georgie looked at Geoffrey, who rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I need to go to town anyway."

"Obedient student doesn't question master!" Mugen barked, and slammed his fist on the floor for effect, then cried out from the pain.

Georgie didn't bother hiding her laughter. "Yes, Sensei."

"Can you take Alison?" Geoffrey asked. "I think she needs to see something other than the same four walls, or she might break our remaining furniture."

It took some time to get Alison bundled up, mainly because she resisted the entire process, but Georgie eventually succeeded. Alison raised her hands. "You'll be three soon," her mother replied. "You can't be carried all the time."

"Training!"

"Nice try," she said, and took Alison's hand.

The roads were cleared of snow as quickly as possible, and after several sunny days, they were finally dry as well. Alison no longer instantly went running off in every direction – at least not when her _mother_ was escorting her – and waved to the townsfolk who still stopped and stared. The sake brewer was expecting their daily order, and quickly had a jug ready for them. It was in no condition to go on anyone's head, so Georgie bought an empty bottle (seeing as how the last few had been mysteriously smashed) and placed it on her head. "Domo Arigato." (_Thank you very much_)

She ignored their stares on the way back. The first person who stopped her, she assumed, only wanted to look, but she didn't. It was a woman in a simple but beautiful kimono, who bowed. "So sorry, but you are the okappiki's wife?" It wasn't really a question, but it was polite to say it that way.

"Yes. Excuse me for not bowing."

"I am so sorry to bother you. If you must go, I understand, but I humbly request an audience with you."

This had never happened before, and the woman was obviously somewhat intimidated. It must have taken her some nerve to do this – and even if it was a trick, Georgie had her sword slung over her shoulder. "All right."

They moved to a small teahouse, and the woman requested a private room. Georgie set her sake down and ordered the broth Alison liked, and she settled down enough to drink that.

"Thank you so very much," the woman said. "I am sorry to inconvenience you about a matter that concerns your husband." But of course, she went through Georgie, the other female. "I do not know if he is involved with the magistrate's business, but there is a particular case that has not come to any conclusion with the magistrate, and I feel as though we are out of options."

"Go on."

The lady bowed again. "My husband, Hachiro, is the apprentice to my father, a master potter with his own store. Perhaps you have visited Ichiro's store?"

"The one with the beautiful purple tea sets in the front? I have."

"Hai, that's the one. Hachiro became his apprentice four years ago, when he renounced his samurai status to become a merchant. He signed a seven-year contract with my father to work for him in exchange for lessons, room and board, and some payment for his hours as a clerk in the store based on commission. That was how we met, working in the store together. In the last four years, Hachiro has worked very hard and become quite talented, and he has saved money up from sales to start his own store. However, my father will not let him out of the contract, even when Hachiro offered to compensate him for having to find a new assistant. He does not want us to leave, but we are very eager to do so. We took the matter to the magistrate, but he would not give a ruling, so we are stuck."

"You want to move out of your father's house? I can understand that. Did your father approve of the marriage?"

"He did, before Hachiro started talking about wanting to leave. Now he is very cruel to my husband and my mother is in argument with Father."

Georgie nodded. "You don't think this is about you leaving the house and not the contract? Fathers can be very protective. I know mine is."

"No. We would not be going anywhere, just a different house. In fact, my father would save money by not having to feed and clothe both of us, and he is always very concerned about money, even though the store is successful."

"Have you spoken to your father directly about this?"

"Many times. He still refuses, and says it is none of my business. We are at wit's end. We see no way to get out of the contract without Father's agreement, but he won't budge. I humbly request that if he has not already, the okappiki at least look into it."

"It is a dispute," Georgie said. "And that is partially his territory. I will tell him, but I can't make any promises."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

The woman was nearly in tears. Georgie consoled her, finally asked her name (Ayumi) and they parted. Georgie put the empty bottle back on her head, but would have hardly noticed if it fell off, as her mind was elsewhere.

* * *

Geoffrey found Mugen in the room they used for fight practice, sawing down another wooden blade from bamboo. "Mugen-san."

"Oi, what do you want now?"

Geoffrey bowed, and sat next to him. "I know about Sir Kogi."

Mugen stopped his sawing, but did not set the bamboo down or look at Geoffrey. "What do you know about it?"

"Everything," he said. "Don't blame Sanjuro. Blame your loud voice."

"So that's what it's come to?" He set the bamboo down. "Why do you come to me with something that's none of your business?"

"I feel a certain obligation to tell Georgiana, seeing as how she's my wife."

Now Mugen was very serious, and did meet his gaze. "If you know everything, as you say, you know it's best not to tell her."

"So you don't deny it?"

"We haven't even discussed what I'm denying!"

"You're going to fight Sir Kogi after we leave, and he's going to kill you."

Mugen only said, "I hope it's after you leave."

"What makes you think you can't beat him?"

"I might. I might get lucky again, or who knows, I might have improved enough to match him, but I have never met a better opponent. What I'm saying is, I'm not sure. And I'm always sure."

"I don't want Georgiana to get involved."

"For once, we agree on something."

"I don't want to lie to her, either."

"You don't have to lie unless someone brings it up."

Geoffrey shook his head. "I wish it was like that. But I came to you first because I thought maybe you would have an idea of how to tell her." He added, "Or you could draw him out and I could just shoot him."

"Jeffrey, you can't be involved in it any more than she can. You think I don't care about you, but I do. It's not that I don't want help. It's that I don't want anyone else to die."

He had never seen Mugen so serious about an opponent. He always laughed off his fights, even when they were dangerous. Geoffrey still remembered the white wolf, and how Mugen hadn't flinched. Or how he'd come back from the wolf hunt covered in animal blood but in good spirits.

"Mugen, I beg of you. What happened between you and Sir Kogi?"

Mugen sighed. "Are you just going to tell Jorgi?"

"I don't know yet."

"Then fine. You know that wound near my shoulder?"

* * *

Ten Years Ago

"Sa!" Mugen cursed, and shook his hand. The fish was still too hot, and he burned himself picking it up from the flames. Well, not the first time, and it was better than the little fire dying out again. He didn't want to spend all day rubbing sticks together. He certainly couldn't go back to town, where he had a hefty tab, and the next one would only ask him for more coin that he had on him, and that coin was reserved for a woman, not food. Food he could get on his own. "Oi! Who's there?"

It was not one of the angry townsfolk; he would have heard it earlier. He was surprised how close the samurai had come to him, even though still a good distance away and hidden in shrubbery, but standing tall. He did not slink away, but stepped forward into view. He did not remove his ronin gasa, but he was dressed far to well to be a ronin.

"Answer my question," Mugen said. "I don't have time to chat now. My lunch is getting cold!"

"How irrelevant." The samurai seemed amused. He did not move for either of his swords. "You either don't know who I am or you don't care."

"Pick one," he replied, and prodded the fish he'd spent an hour trying to spear from the river. Still too hot, even for him. When he looked up, the samurai was closer, but standing very still. Even unnaturally still. "What, you're still here?"

"If you are just an arrogant vagrant, I have no business with you," the samurai said. "However, you meet the descriptions of the man I am searching for."

"So you want to execute me." Mugen stood up. "For which crime? Or is this just some kind of revenge killing? Did I fuck your wife or something?"

"The shōgun was going to send a squad," the samurai said, "but I dissuaded him. I wanted to fight you myself."

Mugen stretched. "The shōgun? You definitely have the wrong guy. I don't think my debts are quite so excessive as for the government to take notice." Then it occurred to him – this samurai had a personal audience with the shōgun? And convinced him of something? "Who are you?"

"Captain Kogi."

"Fancy name for a samurai."

"I didn't say it was my real name." He drew his sword slowly, and did not raise it. "And I doubt yours is really Moo Shin, if you're not Chinese. You must have had an original one."

Now he had his attention. "What's this about?" He rubbed his chin. "Ah, I know. Some Chinese monk wants to kill me, but he knows he can't do it himself, so he bribes the shōgun. I wonder how much I'm worth."

"So you _are_ Hyuu's successor. I don't like wasting my time." He stepped back into stance, but it was a calm one. "I will grant you an explanation and a chance to defend yourself, only because I have never fought a San Soo master, nor will I ever have a chance again. The Shaolin want the art exterminated. In this sense, I disagree with them. Knowledge like that shouldn't be lost, or perhaps squandered on a person like you. When the monks came to the shōgun, I intervened on your behalf you might say, so that I could see it for myself. Don't disappoint me."

"Enough of this bullshit. You want to fight me? Well, I can't turn down a good fight." Mugen drew his sword, but also kicked the log he was sitting on, sending it flying towards the samurai. By the time it reached him, he had casually stepped to the side. Mugen had readied himself just in case, but his blade didn't succeed in cutting – it didn't even hit. It missed entirely, and he went tumbling forward. He had to somersault off one hand to land back on his feet, digging into the ground with his geta to slow his movements.

The samurai merely turned back in his direction, giving no indication that he was concerned with the battle. Mugen flew at him again, and again the man was just _gone_ from that spot, and Mugen had to recover by grabbing a tree. "What's this?"

The samurai had not changed his stance, and still kept his sword down, as if swinging was the last thing on his mind. Both times, Mugen noticed, he'd moved left. Well, he could meet him. "Dodge this!" he shouted, and ducked to the left at the very last moment of his charge. Their blades met if only for a moment, enough to cause a noise as he slid away.

"Again," the samurai said, and Mugen laughed, but he did comply. This time the samurai stepped back, and Mugen sliced at only air, then more air, then to the side and more air. He just couldn't connect. He backed away again to catch his breath.

"Abnormal stance. Shifting tactics. But still not good enough." He added, "And you let your anger get the better of you."

Mugen grinned. "No, I'm just having fun!" He charged again, and this time leapt right over Captain Kogi, landing on the other side. The samurai's response was impressive – instead of just staring at him dumbfounded, he managed to swing around and step backwards, but not fast enough to be out of range. Their blades met for the first time in a lock, one against the other, as they pushed at each other. They were equal in strength, unless the samurai was holding back.

"I want to see it," Kogi said.

"Sorry, you're not for me. Too ... old," he grunted, and finally stepped back, because he couldn't hold against the weight anymore and he didn't want to give Kogi a chance to push.

The samurai was not amused. "You know what I mean. Show me the secret of San Soo!"

But he couldn't. He'd only succeeded in the Death Touch once, and under better circumstances. "Heh. You're too eager to die." He swung and missed, but instead cut down a small tree, which came perilously close to landing on Kogi's head, if he hadn't moved. How was he able to concentrate on everything around him? Why did nothing seem to hit him? It was almost like – "Fine. I'll indulge you." He knew he couldn't win this way. He would tire out and then Kogi would cut him down. He set his stance back defensively, briefly closing his eyes as if he was drawing on some deep concentrative energy.

The samurai took the bait. He came forward, and Mugen wasn't there. _Not be there_. That was the secret. _Be elsewhere._ When he was where Kogi had stood, seconds before, he sliced, and now Kogi had to block more seriously.

Mugen had come close.

"You're learning my moves just by fighting me," the samurai said. "Extraordinary! But it means I'll have to end this, before you know them all." His sword moved, but Mugen could only sense it, not see it. It was gone like him, then reappeared, and by then it was too late. He had no time to react before the tip broke through his skin and the blade plunged in deep enough to break through the other end – or at least it felt that way.

Mugen dropped his sword. He was now held up by the impalement on the samurai's blade. He put his hands over it to grab it, maybe to pull it out, but it just cut his fingers.

"Do you feel that?" the samurai said. "Do you feel that sensation, like you don't have space to breathe? That's your lung trying to expand, but my sword is there. You can draw all the breaths you like, but it'll still be there."

He could feel it. It felt worse than dying; that was how much he hated being trapped. The blade found its way in without puncturing his lung. Mugen could barely open his eyes, but when he did he could see through his tears that he was very close to the samurai. The hilt of the sword was only a few inches from his hands.

"It's a shame I can't let you live. You have incredible potential. It seems all us true warriors are just pawns in political games, doesn't it?"

Kogi's voice was starting to fade. No, he couldn't lose! He couldn't die now! But as his body naturally began to shut down, he felt a kind of peace in a world normally so disturbed, and he could think. He remembered the chalk outline on the floor. He remembered the pain of flowing ki – all of it, what was left of his, was in his center. He was only partially conscious of the fact that he took his hands off Kogi's sword and pulled them to his chest, as if he could reach in and scoop out all his remaining ki. He could imagine it. He just had to make it real. If he was going to die, he was going to take someone with him ...

There was not much space, between him and the samurai, and Kogi was not wearing any armor. It was surprisingly easy to hit his chest with both palms, slamming so hard as to feel that silence. That silence – that was Kogi's heartbeat, not being there. Yes! Yes, that was his sweet revenge. He plunged everything he had – which was very little now – into it, even enough to toss him back. Kogi flew backwards, taking his blade with him, and finally allowing Mugen to sink to the ground.

His arms were numb, but he clutched his chest anyway. He had no conscious thought to close the wound. It was all instinct now. There was not the same silence. He was aware of the birds, and the sun, and the flowing stream. Would it bring him strength? Would nature serve him?

"Moo Shin." But the voice calling him back was different. It was Kogi's, but all of the energy was gone from it. Mugen opened his eyes just enough to see the Kogi standing up by leaning on his sword scabbard, his other arm clutching his chest. "You ... " He lost his words. " ... Did you spare me?"

"I wasn't trying to," he said. "I wasn't good enough. Master Hyuu, I'm so sorry, I wasn't good enough ..."

Time was passing. He was aware of that. He was aware when Kogi stumbled and picked up Mugen's sword, returning it to his scabbard. "This is a beautiful blade."

Mugen had no energy for a response.

"I have to kill you. The sword is proof. If you live, will you go into hiding?"

He mouthed, 'What?'

"When I recover shortly ... I could finish you off. If you agree to hide, I won't." He pulled back his kimono. His chest was red and swollen. "That was it, wasn't it? Dim Mak?"

"Hai."

"I died – for just a second. I've never come so close. Not even my sensei ..." Kogi straightened himself, but was only partially successful. "What do you want me to do with the sword?"

"Will you deliver it to someone?"

"Within Japan, yes."

"Nagasaki ... Dejima." He coughed. "Brian-san and Nadi-sama. You'll remember?"

"Yes."

"P-Put a note." He spaced out for a second, losing contact with reality. It was so tempting, but he forced himself back. "'For the next wolf.'"

Kogi took the blade and put it carefully in his obi. "I will remember."

"Hai. Good." He chuckled. "What say ... we not meet again?"

"If we meet again, it cannot end so easily." He bowed.

Mugen closed his eyes. He did not think it was so easy. He thought it was impossible as he lay there, listening to his own blood drip from the hole in his back, until he couldn't hear that either.

* * *

Geoffrey was silent. How Mugen had lived did not require explanation. It was probably beyond explanation.

"I don't want that for Jorgi."

Geoffrey nodded. "Nor do I." He stood and bowed, leaving Mugen to his meditative sawing. Geoffrey stepped out into the courtyard with a heavy heart, and greeted his wife and child.

...Next Chapter - The Potter's Dilemma

* * *


	30. The Potter’s Dilemma

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 30 – The Potter's Dilemma

First thing the next morning, Geoffrey set out to town to inquire after the potter apprentice, Hachiro. He was partially relieved when Georgie came home with such a long story for him to mull over, because it gave him a reason to be silent instead of telling her about Sir Kogi. He first spoke briefly to the magistrate, who wanted nothing of it, then went to town. It was not hard to find Ichiro's store, and he was instantly recognized by the servant who greeted him. "Okappiki-san! What brings you here today?"

"I am looking for a man named Hachiro-san."

At this, he was surprised, and a little nervous. Perhaps Geoffrey had said it too officially. "Hai, hai, I am Hachiro-san. How can I be of service to you?"

"I know you are working, but may I speak with you in private? I apologize for the inconvenience."

"Of course, Okappiki-san." He bowed and escorted him in. "Ayumi! Tea!"

He heard a woman call out from the back room in response, and Geoffrey was ushered into a small side room. "I hope you don't mind the mess," Hachiro said. "It's a workshop, but here we can talk in some privacy and I can still hear if a customer approaches." He sat down across from him as the woman entered with the tray, set it down, and left. "I hope I'm not in any trouble."

"No, nothing like that." He allowed Hachiro to serve him. "Your wife approached mine yesterday, asking if I would look into some business-related trouble you are having."

"She did that? We were only talking about it." He bowed his head. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not an intrusion. In fact, I am interested in assisting this dispute. I understand it is between your father-in-law and yourself?"

"Yes." Hachiro laid out what Georgie had explained the night before, about his inability to break his servitude contract with Ichiro, even after he offered to pay his way out of it.

"You offered to pay him in full for his loss, even though he'll just hire a replacement, and he still didn't accept?"

"No, he did not. And I can't pay him a bu more, if I'm to start out on my own. The money I saved was meant to start a business, and support my wife while we did so. We can't walk out with nothing but the clothes on our back."

"But you very much wish to be out from under your father-in-law's roof." That was understandable. "Do you think it is because he fears your store will be competition?"

"Perhaps. I am nothing like him though, and by the time I will be, he might be retired. But he would lose me not just as a worker but also as a skilled apprentice, so I suppose I really am worth more. And I have brought in more sales than he had previously, working in the front."

"He does have a lot to lose," Geoffrey said, sipping his tea. "There is no way out of the contract?"

"Not unless he agrees to it. The magistrate says it is ironclad."

Geoffrey looked down at his tea. "Tell me – I heard you used to be a samurai."

"Hai."

"Excuse my ignorance, but I don't fully understand this process of renouncing your status."

"Ah! I will tell you. As you know, the samurai class is closed. You cannot become samurai unless you are born into it or you get a samurai or a daimyo to agree to adopt you. Since the end of the civil wars, the shōgun has created almost no new samurai families. But you can leave, if you want to, by renouncing your status. You give up the right to wear your swords or behave like a samurai, but you get the freedom to become any one of the other classes that were previously beneath you. Once renounced, though, you cannot go back, and your wife and children are not samurai."

"What made you renounce your status? May I ask?"

"You may, Okappiki-san. It is nothing so scandalous. I was born into a large family in a town that already had too many samurai. My stipend was very small and I was given a very dull administrative position. I was trained in combat, but I felt it was useless since the only opportunity I would ever have to show off my skills is to either join a dojo or become an assassin, and I'm not a murderer. I was very much interested in the arts, but not the kind that are respectable for samurai – painting, drawing, writing poetry. I was very industrious, and it was very shameful. When I realized I would never find happiness as an administrator and had no hope of increasing my stipend enough to not worry about money for my own family, I left, and apprenticed myself to Ichiro. I fell in love with his work immediately and wanted to learn from him.

"In the beginning, he liked me very much because I was a hard worker, and when I fell in love with his daughter, he agreed on our marriage. But that was months ago, and Ayumi and I want to start a family, but she is so busy with her mother and we would like a life of our own. Do you understand?"

Geoffrey nodded. "I am due to inherit land from my father upon his death, but he is still young and healthy. When I married, we were very fortunate to receive a house in another area as a wedding gift that we will sell when my father dies and I assume his responsibilities. My parents were very understanding." He had thought of something, and now seemed like a good time to bring it up. "Allow me to ask – were you trained very hard in combat, even though you would never see it?"

"Yes. I am from a very proud lineage. Our family is descendents of people who fought the Mongol invaders."

"Were you good? Be honest."

He lowered his eyes again. "I did pursue it, so I am good in a dojo setting, but I've never killed a man."

"But you know kenjitsu well."

"Hai. I did enter a tournament once, and won 100 ryo."

"Do you think you could remember your training?"

"It has not been so long – but it is not relevant. I cannot wield my swords again."

Geoffrey set the cup down. "That's not what I meant. I think I have a proposal for you." Hachiro looked curious, but also a little frightened, probably thinking the worst. "My cousin Danny, the man with the red hair, was adopted by the magistrate in gratitude for destroying the Tanaka gang. He wants very much to learn the samurai arts, and he has some training, but he is without a teacher now. If I found a price that would make your father-in-law agree to break the contract and paid it on your behalf, would you take some time out of your schedule to train him? Nothing serious, perhaps a day a week."

Hachiro was relieved. "I would be very happy with that! But I do not know what kind of price Ichiro will give. It may be very high."

"This is a gift for my cousin, on occasion of one of our festivals," Geoffrey said. "I am almost sure I can reach some agreement with Ichiro that is reasonable to both of us."

Hachiro bowed to the ground. "Thank you, Okappiki-san! Thank you so very much!"

"Don't thank me yet – it's all just talk until I get him in negotiation. Oh, and will you please inform Ichiro to report to the magistrate's office this afternoon? I would be grateful."

"Yes! Thank you, Okappiki-san!"

* * *

When Geoffrey returned, he found Georgiana doing a handstand on their bed mat, with one foot holding a jug and the other a box. "Hello."

He chuckled and stepped up to the platform. "Is this training or should I hand Alison off to someone?"

"Only in your dreams, Darcy. I used to do this when I was a girl – out in the woods."

"Where's Mugen, so I can yell at him for making my wife look ridiculous?"

She kicked, which effectively tossed the jug into his hands, followed by the box with the other foot. Then she tumbled over and righted herself. "I haven't seen him today. He left early this morning and hasn't been back." She took a moment to straighten her hampered clothing. "Did you meet the apprentice potter?"

"Yes, and it was as I suspected. He can fight. He agreed to train Danny if I get him out of the contract."

"But we don't know how good he is."

"Anything that keeps Danny busy and makes him happy is worth it to me. He's come all the way to Japan with us and he's going to have so much to deal with when he goes home, and he's not even learning what he wants to learn! Don't mention it; I want it to be our Christmas gift."

She pulled him in by his kimono and kissed him. "You're so good to your family."

"They usually respond in kind." But he pulled himself away when there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?"

"I'm not taking Ali-chan again," Mugen shouted. "It's the middle of the day."

Georgie rolled her eyes. "Come in, sensei."

He slid the door open, and had he been any less distinctive, they might have questioned whether it was the same man. Mugen had been busy that morning – at the barber's. His hair was still wild and untamed by even a small topknot, but he'd shaven his long beard, and came to resemble the man they'd known as children once again. "Foreigners! Always staring!" he barked. "Jeffrey-kun, I'm going to steal your wife from you."

"That's a battle I know not to fight," he said, and Georgie kissed him on the cheek and ran to her sensei, following him into the courtyard and to the back of the complex. Geoffrey sighed, and turned to Alison and her toys, which were spread out all over the floor. "What do you want for Christmas? More furniture to break? And no toy swords."

* * *

Hachiro and his father-in-law, Ichiro, arrived in the mid-afternoon, after Geoffrey had time to prepare the magistrate, who was annoyed by the intrusion but had no good reason to send them away. Since Boss Tanaka was run out of town and Geoffrey made Okappiki, he had less on his plate than usual, and often sat drinking and listening to geisha sing in his own quarters for most of the day. Geoffrey was always very respectful, as the magistrate was the key to their permit to stay in town, and this was one of the first times he really put him out. Fortunately both men arrived, bringing the contract with them. It was in cold legal language, and Geoffrey couldn't read it, but it was signed by the magistrate, and he assured him that it said what he was told it said.

The two artisans bowed before their magistrate. "O-magistrate-sama, please excuse our presence."

"Here we are, once again," he grumbled from his little throne of a larger pillow. Geoffrey sat to his side. "Jeffrey-san, you have a proposal?"

"Hai, O-magistrate-sama. Hachiro-san has worked four years for his master, and I am willing to provide the funds to compensate Ichiro-san for the loss of three additional years of work. Hachiro will then render me a service for the time that I am here."

"What service is this?"

"He will train my cousin Dani-san in jinjitsu. Since there are no masters here that will take on a gaijin student, we are very eager to find a skilled swordsman. The matter on the table is the price to break the contract. Ichiro-san, have you estimated one?"

Ichiro stroked his little goatee. "I will lose not only my apprentice as a worker but also my daughter. It will be a heavy loss."

"But there are no shortage of workers in Imbe, surely."

"Not good ones! I will have to train new people."

"But you will not have to house them or feed them, as you currently do."

"Yes." Ichiro could not deny that. He folded his arms. "Five hundred ryo."

It was a massive sum. Even Hachiro seemed shocked. Geoffrey, however, was expecting it. "With all due respect, if the other stores are any indication, you do not make five hundred ryo in three years, much less pay your employees that amount."

"You spoke to the other shops?"

"I could not help but do so. I am a foreigner and uneducated in your economy."

Ichiro grumbled. "You seem educated plenty! Besides, my shop does better than their shops because of my apprentice."

"But only because he learns from you, and you are a master of your craft. The Ichiro name is respected, and they will not forget that if you lose a servant," Geoffrey said. "Two hundred ryo."

"That is an insult!"

He bowed. "If you want, we can pull the tax records and see what you pay, and based on the percentages, calculate your earnings for the last three years, so you will have an exact number."

This would not be something Ichiro would want to do, of course. "Four hundred."

"Three. It should be one-fifty. We are both aware of that. I am doubling your potential profits before you've even made them."

Ichiro looked at his son-in-law, at the magistrate, and then finally back at Geoffrey. "Three hundred ryo, and I will break the contract."

Geoffrey bowed to the ground. "Thank you, Ichiro-san."

Their business deal complete, they shared tea. Ichiro was eager to go and left as soon as possible, but Hachiro kept bowing ecstatically to Geoffrey. "Domo Arigato! I will not fail you, Okappiki-san. I will train Dani-san to the best of my abilities."

"I'm sure you will," Geoffrey said, and saw him out. When he stepped back in, the magistrate had a foul look on his face.

"You overpaid."

"Ah, but everyone is happy, except my wallet. Besides, you should be grateful. Ichiro is very good, but Hachiro is the future. He has many years of making profitable merchandise ahead of him – and you will collect the taxes on it. My father taught me always to look to the future generation, and to treat them well."

"Sa, you're just spoiled," the magistrate said, and Geoffrey bowed as he left, grumbling drunkenly as he did. His wife poked her head in, her hair matted with sweat. She was still wearing the chest armor for serious sparring.

"How did it go?"

He grinned. "Do you think I'm spoiled?"

"Your living quarters are two wooden rooms with almost no furniture and a mat on the floor, and you've nothing to eat but rice and fish. I think it would be very hard to call you spoiled."

"I'll have to remember that, because sometimes, it doesn't seem that way."

* * *

Mugen's training had taken on a new level of intensity, so much so that he required Georgie to armor herself with chest gear, a metal face guard, and gloves. When she told him it hampered her movements, he shrugged. "Adjust."

Their fighting was long silences punctuated by rapid strikes and loud cries. Mugen let Danny join on occasion, to provide another opponent for Georgie at the same time. Even when she seemed to be winning, by Geoffrey's own estimation, Mugen would scold her. "Don't use your body. Use yourself! You can't always rely on tricks and speed."

"You taught me tricks and speed!"

"That was for a little girl. Now – again!"

She charged at him with a cry, probably because he had provoked her, and swung wildly off to the side. He deflected her, but Geoffrey hadn't seen it. He rubbed his eyes.

"Jeffrey-san," Sanjuro said, to his left. "Are you all right?"

"Did you see him block? I can't follow this motion all the time."

"No, I didn't see it either. He's doing something strange."

Every time Georgie hit the floor, her armor made it sound all the worse. Geoffrey cringed, but she reassured him when she took a breather. "I'm all right."

"It didn't sound like it."

He could tell, even she was getting frustrated. Mugen looked at Geoffrey. "Enough for today." He helped Georgie remove her helmet. "I do to you what my sensei did to me."

"And look how you turned out."

He wiped at her hair. "You can still joke at me. That's a good sign. Otherwise, I think your husband will shoot me."

...Next Chapter - Christmas in Japan

* * *


	31. Christmas in Japan

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

**Book news:** Call for reviewers! If you have a blog or merely guest-post on Austenblog, and you would like a free copy of my book of the first two stories, PM me. Some copies will free up in August for the September release and I can have one sent to you if you plan to review it. PM or email me, preferably email.

Everyone else, pre-order ends when the book goes on sale September 1st, so reserve your copy at a lower price today!

* * *

Chapter 31 - Christmas in Japan

Georgie stirred unusually late, and rolled over with a moan. "Ow." She opened her eyes to the door sliding open, and Geoffrey stepped up to the platform, followed by Alison, who loved to climb it herself. "I overslept, didn't I?"

"We were shopping for presents!" Alison shouted, and Geoffrey shushed her.

"Shh! You weren't supposed to say that."

Georgie just smiled and tried to raise her head. "Oof! This is not good. Is Mugen-san waiting for me?"

"I don't think he's expecting anything of you today, considering you could barely stand last night," Geoffrey said. He knelt on the mat beside her. Her knuckles were still red and swollen. "Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"I'm just sore." She took his hand, to prove she was capable of some movement. "What in the world are we going to get Mugen?"

"Food? Sake?"

"Besides that. He's just ... he doesn't have many material things. He's too mobile for that. Can you help me up?"

He offered her a hand. "We are _not_ buying him a prostitute," he whispered in English.

"He would like it."

"No. I will not sully the Darcy name with such an action."

She rolled her eyes. "Very well. I'll have to find him something." With his help, she dressed, but she was still stiff.

"You know the toy shop? I told the woman what Alison looked at, but I didn't have time to buy." He added, "And no toy weapons."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Instead of leaning over, she patted Alison on the head on her way out.

* * *

Mugen was gone most of the day, reappearing just in time for dinner. There was a festive atmosphere among the foreigners.

"Oi, what's this?" Sanjuro said.

"Nothing," Geoffrey said.

"Tomorrow is a day of absolutely no significance to us," Georgie said between swallows.

"Don't question," Mugen said. "Shut up and get presents."

"What?"

"Their Buddha was born," he said. "But it's forbidden. Do you want to feast or not?"

Sanjuro didn't question any further, as he seemed to get the hint.

Alison was overexcited, and they let her run around in the snow for a while behind the house to tire herself out. "Mama! Mama! Look!" She'd made a little tower in the snow, which was more of a lump, but she was exceptionally proud of it.

"It's beautiful, dear," Georgie said. "Are you tired yet? You have to come in before you catch cold."

"Give her some of this," Mugen held up a dish of sake that he was using to keep warm. "What? No? You have no sense of humor anymore. And it would make her sleepy."

"I will not have a hung over toddler on my hands tomorrow, thank you very much. Though I'll take some of that myself." She grabbed the dish from his hand and knocked it back. "I don't know what Geoffrey's on about. It's not that foul. Gin is much worse."

"_Gin?_" Mugen didn't know the word.

"When did you have gin?" Danny said, stepping out onto the porch.

"Once. And it was enough. But I did last longer than Geoffrey and George – but everyone lasts longer than George." She clinked her porcelain dish against his. "To an ordinary eve."

"Indeed."

Mugen lifted his hands over his head and titled. "Bonzai!"

* * *

Alison did tire, and had to be carried in. Danny did the honors because Georgie was too sore and Geoffrey was busy doing his calculations. "Good night," Georgie said, and kissed him. "And good luck."

He needed it. Geoffrey, Danny, and Mugen stood outside, their hats protecting them from falling snow, staring at the cow as it chewed on the remnants of a bush.

"I've seen this done before," Geoffrey said. "It can't be that hard."

"How hard is it? Slit its throat already."

"I don't want it to escape."

"This cow doesn't know what's coming to her. Just go do it, you barbarian."

Geoffrey triple-checked that the other instrumentation and the preservation salt and spices were ready, and he did as he had seen the workers at Pemberley do so many times before a feast. The resulting cascade made Danny drop his axe and run to the bushes to be ill. Mugen just laughed and had another gulp from the sake bottle. "And you want to be a samurai?"

"He doesn't want to be a butcher, that is for sure. Wait – is your name Daniel Maddox or not? Your father's stomach is made of steel."

"Doesn't mean he's killed a cow," Danny responded, picking himself up. "This had better be worth it."

"You won't be doubting that tomorrow," Geoffrey said, and set about the real work.

* * *

The sun rose on what was, to the people of Imbe, another ordinary winter day, cold and quiet. The artisans and merchants went to work and the farmers sat inside and waited for spring, eating from their supplies. The magistrate got drunk.

Both Darcys had the unpleasant sensation of two tiny feet climbing over them and then bouncing up and down in the small space between them. "Can I say it? Can I say it? Wake up!"

"What time is it?"

"Morning," Geoffrey replied, opening his eyes to light. "Apparently. And yes, you can say it. There are no spies on this ... mattress."

"Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, yes," Georgie said, pulling her daughter in for a kiss. "Now do you know what good children do for Christmas?"

"Presents!"

"They leave their parents alone until a reasonable hour. Then maybe they'll get presents."

"Now!"

"You do it," Geoffrey said. "I'm half-frozen from last night."

"Me? I'm the one all bruised."

"But you know where they are."

"I could tell you."

He burrowed his head further into his pillow. "It depends if you want steak or if it's going to the birds."

"You wouldn't dare. _Fine_." She kissed him. "You were up late." Georgie stumbled to her feet, threw on her over-kimono, and opened the door to the common room. "Stay here," she told Alison, "or you get coal."

"As if we have coal," Geoffrey mumbled.

Georgiana reappeared with the presents, wrapped in paper, which she'd hidden away in a ceiling storage shelf. "No one is up," she said to Geoffrey. "Happy Christmas, darling!" She kissed Alison on both cheeks, but Alison wasn't interested in her mother. She was interested in her presents.

From her parents she received a safely wooden miniature tea set, seeing as how she had destroyed all of the clay ones she used with her dolls, a new handkerchief for her hair, and a small collection of tops that Geoffrey solemnly promised to show her how to use if she let him sleep. She wrapped the silk handkerchief around her doll and immediately set about testing the stability of the wooden pieces of the tea set, which her father sternly informed her would break better in the next room.

Georgiana removed her heavy outer kimono and slid back under the covers. "Happy Christmas."

He kissed her. "Happy Christmas." He pulled the cover over their heads and held her. She was thinner again, but this time, she had muscle. "Maybe we'll have a bit of peace for a few minutes."

"I felt guilty about getting anyone else up," she said. "I suppose the maid will come around."

He grinned, and stroked her cheek. "Do you think G-d will forgive us for missing church?"

"If we're going to concern ourselves with sins, there're bigger ones to worry about than one service you always sleep through."

"I do not!"

"It's all right. Everyone does. I even saw my father nodding off last year."

"But mine was like a hawk, no doubt."

"You weren't looking?"

"You just said I was sleeping."

She giggled. "And my father's given up on me ever having good female Christian virtues."

"If they involve devotion to one's family, I think you may be covered."

"There's modesty."

"That particular rule always bothered me. I thought it was rather strict. At least involving everyone who wasn't older than me or a sister."

"Geoffrey."

"Right, not a very _Christian_ conversation. But we're not allowed to have those here anyway, are we?"

She buried herself in his kimono, though it was mostly open at the neck. "I would like to have gotten the letters."

"It doesn't mean England was conquered. They were held up," he said. "Besides, my mother will try to guilt us into an early return with tales of Anne's suitors. And my father will subtly imply that you might be pregnant and we oughtn't take the risk."

"How can he tell?"

"I think he thinks I was intending to spend two years practicing monk-ery, and have surely given it up by now." He looked her in the eyes. "You are tempting."

"You didn't tell him about the tea?"

"Did you tell Uncle Bingley?"

She blushed. "Of course not."

He sighed, enjoying the quiet of whatever godawful time it was. "I wouldn't mind hearing from them nonetheless."

"What do you think they're doing now?"

"Well, it's earlier there, is it not? Surely they're asleep."

"Or they're at church."

"Either way, they're asleep."

They laughed, and snuggled closer against the morning chill, drifting off again to the sounds of Alison futilely banging her new wares against each other.

* * *

Sanjuro, in an unusual display of energy, appeared to join them as they sat with their individual trays pushed together. "What is that smell?"

"Go away! It's not for Buddhists and cultured men!" Mugen said.

"Mugen!" Georgie scolded. "Not today. Sanjuro, come join us."

"Yes, for once in your life, taste something good," Geoffrey mumbled with his mouthful of chunks of meat. "And pass the salt. Ah, _Domo Arigato_."

"It's usually in a big piece," Danny explained as Sanjuro was seated next to him, and passed a bowl of steaming chunks of meat mixed with cooked vegetables and covered in spices. "There are precise cuts, but we didn't know them."

"And it was late," Geoffrey said. "And cold."

"Geoffrey, you're going to make yourself sick if you eat so fast."

"How can I eat fast with sticks for a fork?" he said, but he was actually just using the chopsticks to shovel the food from the bowl to his mouth. "The spices are a bit ... unusual."

"Mainly because we just threw on whatever we had," Danny said. "But it's still beef."

"Alison," Mugen said, "show them that trick I taught you."

Alison stuck her tongue out, displaying the contents of her mouth.

"Alison! Close your mouth." Georgie had a chance to respond first, because Geoffrey's mouth was full again. "That's not a trick. It's just being disgusting."

"Nothing about meat is disgusting," Geoffrey said.

"Ha! Dani didn't think so last night," Mugen chuckled, spearing the pieces and eating them off the stick. Danny just lowered his eyes, his face red. Mugen, who was a bottomless pit, stopped eating long enough to pick Alison up and twirl her around. "Oi, kid, what do you want for Chrismis? Your parents were so easy. I just wrote their names!" He reached under his tray and pulled out a bundle for her, which she tore through to reveal a doll. Unlike the rest of hers, it was male, and wearing a little kimono and hakama. It even had a shaven head with a horsehair topknot.

"You didn't have to do that," Georgie said. "Alison, what do you say?"

"Thank you!" Alison hugged Mugen, who set her down.

"She can't have all women dolls playing tea. Women get together and scheme and make trouble. You have to have a guy for them to squabble over."

Georgie looked at Geoffrey demanding some kind of response, but he just shrugged, which earned him a rice ball in the face. "What? Am I now the sole defender of your sex?"

Danny gave her a new kimono that was pink and blue, and Sanjuro looked at a loss. "Here." He handed her his pill case, with his family crest on it.

"You don't have to give her anything."

"Why not? I don't want to be mean to a little kid," he said. "And this _is_ good food."

"I told you," Geoffrey said with a wide grin.

It was after Alison was thoroughly distracted by her own new toys that the adults shared their gifts. Danny was overwhelmed. "I must pay you back."

"It's a gift," Geoffrey said. "And you might need those fighting skills someday, and then it will be worth every ryo. But hopefully not."

Mugen yawned, and stood up to leave, but felt a tug on his jacket. "What's this?"

"Sensei," Georgiana bowed, holding up a package.

"It's small for a woman. I suppose if she's naked ..."

"Just open it," Geoffrey grumbled.

Mugen pulled apart the paper wrapping, which protected a bead bracelet with a metal charm where the ends of the string met. He held it up. "Buddha – no, female." He tightened his thumb over it. "Kwan Yin." His voice was unsteady. "_Domo_." (_Thanks_) He turned away to put it on, and wipe his eyes. "So, now I give my gift to you. Though, it is more to Jeffrey-chan, but he likes me less, so it is good that way."

"Hey!"

"Geoffrey." Georgie gave him a stern look as Mugen left for his room.

"Where did you find the beads?"

"It's not hard to get Buddhist beads. The tricky part was finding a female Buddha charm." She hushed up as he entered. His gift was larger, and just wrapped in a piece of cloth, which he handed to Geoffrey.

"This can't be ..." He unwrapped the glass bottle. "The label's in Dutch." He could tell, however, from the color, that it was brandy. "Where did you get this? How did you get it from Nagasaki?"

"Nothing so special. The daimyo in the next region is a big collector of Western goods."

"You bought it from him?" Danny said.

Mugen shrugged noncommittally. "Just be glad he didn't find me, or he'd be dead."

"I think Geoffrey is too happy to care," Georgie said, gesturing to her gaping husband. He stood up, leapt over his tray with the bottle still in-hand, and hugged Mugen.

"Oi, what's this? I said I didn't like you! And definitely not like that. You're Jorgi's husband!"

"Shut up and let me thank you," he said. "Thank you, Mugen-sama. Come – have a drink with me."

"It's noon," Georgie pointed out.

"It's Christmas!" Geoffrey shouted, and uncorked the bottle.

Spacing it between heavy doses of sake to spread it out, Geoffrey, Georgie, and Mugen polished off the bottle of brandy within an hour. Sanjuro tried to keep up, but the liquor made him cough, and he had to be helped back to his bed. Danny rolled his eyes and took Alison again. "I suppose you don't want to see your parents make fools of themselves. Or perhaps you do, and you shouldn't."

"Oi! So critical!" Georgie said, imitating Mugen's tone.

"He's grumpy. He needs a woman."

"He just needs a better one," Mugen said.

"What?"

"Hai, the whore he's seeing, she's good, but she's not great. And he hasn't been back. You have to ... learn how to do it."

Georgie burst out laughing. Geoffrey at least tried to contain himself. "I suppose I shouldn't ask how you know this."

"She's talky," Mugen said, and set down another finished sake bottle. "Small town. Everyone knows about _huge_ foreigners. They're waiting for you to cheat on Jorgi so they can see."

Georgiana broke out into hysterics, tumbling to the side because there was no back of a chair to catch her, while Geoffrey turned bright red. "Really."

"Would I lie to you?"

"I'm pretty sure you would," Geoffrey grumbled, "but not about this. Oh _G-d_." He sipped at the last of the brandy bottle, drinking straight out of it. "Georgie – are you all right?"

She did pull herself up by grabbing him and using his arm as a wall, but that just made him lean precariously to the side. "Yes. I think so. Oh, and I'll kill you. If."

"If what?"

"If you show off. Oh, and cheat on me."

"Georgie – darling – I would never – never cheat on you." He pulled her close. "I _love _you." He hiccupped and added, "Also you'd kill me."

"Yes. Darling." She kissed him, but missed, and ended up kissing his shoulder.

"Ugh. Public displays."

"I caught you being tossed out of a – a whorehouse!"

"Public displays between _married people_. Especially you!" he pointed at them. "No more brandy!"

"Awwwww."

"Mugen-sensei, don't ruin his Christmas spirit," Georgie said.

"Christmas _spirits_," Geoffrey giggled, and kissed her.

"Disgusting."

"For all the things you do and then talk about," Geoffrey said, "I'm not allowed to kiss my wife? Whom I love? And is _mine?_"

"Don't tease him," Georgie pleaded, but not very well, as she giggled her way through it. "You wouldn't kiss me like that in front of George Wickham."

"It depends on how much brandy I had in me."

She snuggled into his kimono lining. "You wouldn't do it in front of my father."

Geoffrey took a moment to gather his thoughts, and said, "That would take a lot of brandy. Mugen, more brandy!" He raised the empty bottle.

"Sa, you've had enough!"

"Don't be harsh, sensei. Please don't fight. I love you both. Just ..." she hiccupped, "differently. And it's Christmas."

Her husband raised his available hand. "I, Geoffrey-san, solemnly swear to, for a few more hours, not make fun of Mugen, or yell at him, or get mad at him because he hits you even if he's teaching you, or for driving you insane, which he did, even if I love you anyway despite the fact that you are an insane woman and it's all his fault. But I love you anyway."

"And I swear to get this conversation out of my mind!" Mugen said, picking up the rest of the sake bottles that still had something in them. He bowed. "Jorgi-chan. Jeffrey-chan. I leave you now, on your crazy holiday with your mixed up dead Buddha."

"Happy Christmas, Mugen."

There was a trace of a smile on his lips, though the rest of his expression remained otherwise the same one of frustration and embarrassment. "Happy Christmas, my little gaijin."

...Next Chapter - Christian Darcy's Legacy

* * *


	32. Christian Darcy's Legacy

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

Author's Notes: **This chapter is rated M for graphic, disturbing content.**

* * *

Chapter 32 - Christian Darcy's Legacy

The Darcys were pleased to learn that not only were birthdays celebrated in Japan, but the third, fifth, and seventh birthdays were of special significance. To say Alison was showered with presents was putting it mildly; they were fairly sure they could dump the softer ones on her head and it would serve as a shower.

Geoffrey had casually mentioned when he was in a store that he was buying for his daughter's birthday the following morning, and the townsfolk were not ready to hold back for their beloved _okappiki's_ daughter, the little demon-haired girl who was always a delight. She had more new kimonos than she could wear, and little scraps of fabric from those who couldn't afford, and sweets from the shops. "Domo! Domo! Domo!" (_Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!_) she said, after her father carefully instructed her to do so.

It was the parents who found themselves exhausted long before the child, who was too excited to notice how tired she was. She was still running around when Geoffrey was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"I'll watch her," Mugen said, and without thinking, Geoffrey nodded.

It was only when all the guests were gone and Georgie joined him in bed that he rolled over and mumbled, "Did I really agree to let Mugen watch our daughter?"

"Japan may have altered your sensibilities," she said, "or you may just be very tired."

* * *

There was plenty of time for rest in the upcoming weeks, at least for Geoffrey Darcy. The winter weather was not severe by his standards, but the countryside lay undisturbed and activity in the town was minimal, and most gatherings were for warmth. He oversaw a dispute or two that was brought before the magistrate, who leaned on his abilities to negotiate, but otherwise his time was his own.

Hachiro was there for two half-days a week, sparring with Danny. He admitted at being surprised how easy it was to pick up his sword again, even if it was just the available wooden swords of the room they turned into a dojo.

"How is your business?" Geoffrey asked between matches.

"I admit I am very intimidated by the idea, but we are going to open in the late spring. I should have enough of a stock before then for at least the front of the store." He bowed, and returned to the floor, now that Danny had time to catch his breath.

Where Hachiro was stern when it was appropriate, Mugen was working Georgiana until she sometimes literally dropped. They didn't know how much longer they would have before the shōgun recalled them, but Mugen had an air about him that was noticeably different. Though his relations with Geoffrey were improved, he was distant, and often left immediately to go drinking, not to return until the next morning.

"I think something's bothering him," Georgie said.

"I never understood him in the first place," Geoffrey replied with a guilty shrug. It never seemed a good time to tell her that Mugen was so clearly working her hard because he wanted to pass on his secrets to her before his death, which he viewed as imminent. Mugen was right; she wouldn't stand by and let it happen. The only thing in question was whether she was capable of intervening, but Mugen was not willing to leave that to chance, and Geoffrey respected him for it. Not that it all made _him_ feel any better for lying to his wife, especially when she was so close to the answer she needed.

He tried to watch, as if he could do something on the sidelines. There was one night where Mugen, who was strangely sober, told him to leave. "This is what my master taught me." They were both seated, and Mugen had a large sheet of rice paper and a brush in his hands, so Geoffrey nodded to his wife, who gave him a reassuring smile. He closed the door.

* * *

"Sorry," Mugen said to Georgie, but he didn't sound sorry. She sat across from him, her sword on the floor beside her. He dipped the brush in ink and began to carefully paint strokes up and down, until it eventually came to look something like a human body. "Where the lines of ki are is not a secret. The Chinese use it in their medicine. When a line becomes blocked, you get sick." He took chalk from the little box he'd prepared, and began to draw lines going up and down. "The Chinese doctors use metal to draw up the energy, which is magnetic, with their little needles. In the ultimate application of any martial art, ki is harnessed by the mind and used against an opponent, or to protect oneself. My master could use not only ki from his own body to perform Dim Mak, the death touch, but the ki in nature to protect him. It made him nearly invincible."

"Nearly?"

"Harnessing your body's own ki is not only difficult, but exhausting. As you may have noticed, when you used it on me."

Georgie closed her fists, where there were still scars from that incident in the woods. "I am sorry."

"You did it unintentionally. It was very impressive." He was so serious! It was unlike him. "I never mastered it."

"But – "

"Master Hyuu taught me the methods, but I've only performed them a few times in my life, and only once to success, of killing someone."

"You're young yet, Sensei."

He smiled sadly. "I suppose. But I would have tried harder, if I wasn't so afraid." He drew a circle with the charcoal around the torso of the body. "In here, the gut, is where all of it emanates. But there are also all the bad things you've swallowed – words you didn't want to say, feelings you couldn't express. Some things you didn't even know about." He set the charcoal down again. "Master Hyuu was a monk since his childhood. He lived a life of contemplation. He believed in the compassion of Kwan Yin. He had this saying from Tibet, 'I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, until I achieve Enlightenment.'"

"The what?"

"The Buddha, you know? The Dharma are his teachings. The Sangha are his community of followers." He looked down at the drawing. "He believed in all that. He could open his heart."

Georgie was silent for a moment. "Why can't you do that, Mugen-sensei?"

"I don't know. I wasn't made for it. He didn't have time, maybe. I was there for only a few years." He finally looked up at her. "You have the potential in you to be a true master of San Soo. You have all the makings of it; you did as a very small child. But that is not to say it comes easy, and not just in the dojo. Also, you have to learn fast. I am asking a lot."

"Sensei, I came all this way. I'm not afraid."

He made a non-committal sound. "The most difficult thing is to draw up your ki from here -," and he pointed to the gut of the person – "to somewhere else. Anywhere else. I can show you the techniques to do it, as my master taught me, and his master taught him." He was playing with the charm on his bracelet. "Have you made peace with everything?"

"Would I be here if I had not? I came to finish my training."

He shook his head. "I mean everything." More softly, he said. "Jeffrey, in his many threats to me, told me to go easy on you, because you lost a child before you came here."

Now she did not sit so easy on her cushion. She felt cold, but resisted shivering. "It happens. Not every pregnancy is successful." When he didn't respond, she said, "It was very hard, but I recovered, and here I am."

"Did you swallow it? Do you stop yourself from crying at night?"

She tightened her fists so hard it hurt. "What are you saying? That I came to you to learn how to fight, and because I'm a woman, I can't do it?"

"You're a mother."

"That shouldn't change anything!" She realized how thin the walls were, and lowered her voice. "You can't tell me I can't do something!"

"No, you have to learn whether you can or you can't for yourself." He looked down. "Forgive me. I just want to protect you."

"Now you're talking like everyone else," she said. She couldn't believe this was happening. He was the one who understood her, who never doubted her. "If I want this conversation again, I'll go back to England and hear it from everyone in my family. Or I'll just go into the next room and hear it from Geoffrey. But _please_ – I don't want it from you, of all people." She knew when her voice cracked she was crying. "I thought you believed in me."

"I do."

"Then why do you think I can't do this?"

"I never said that. I just said it would be hard. I wanted to tell you the truth. So you could be – prepared." He softened his tone. "Jorgi-chan, don't cry."

"I'm _not_."

"At least wipe your eyes."

She frowned and did so, and of course didn't put her sleeve back down without it being wet. "Teach me."

Mugen sighed. "All right."

* * *

It was not so easy to clear her mind, but Georgie didn't expect it to be. She was rattled by the conversation, but felt it was necessary to have it, and if she couldn't trust him, who could she trust? And he proceeded anyway, teaching her the breathing techniques, striking her awake when she nodded off. He wrapped a heavy kimono around her when she became cold from so little activity.

"Georgie?" It was Geoffrey's voice. "It's dinner."

She wasn't hungry. She wasn't anything. She opened her eyes, and it was dark outside. "All right."

Aside from stretching and kata in the morning, she did not fight that week, or the next. She became accustomed to how painful those soft cushions could become over time, when she was sore from being in one position. She could ignore it. She succeeded in clearing her mind, but she knew it was only superficial. He told her about the mystical lines of ki, and drew them again and again until she memorized them, even telling her how some of them could affect her heath. The arm for nausea, the back of the head for the stomach, behind the ear to keep her steady. The more he talked of it, the less she believed him. How could something be inside her and be so difficult to sense?

But she had sensed it, she reminded herself, in the woods of Lancashire. She took herself back to that moment, but it slipped through her fingers. And when she fought Mugen and hurt him, making his hands bleed – again, it slipped from her, like trying to hold water.

Mugen was patient. "I will show you, but you won't like it."

"Show me," was her answer, without any sort of hesitation.

He told her to stand. "Push me. Not so hard. Just enough so that I feel it."

She took hold of his kimono and pressed against him. He didn't even inch back, but she could feel his body respond. "Enough," he said. "Maintain your stance. Now." He raised his hand so that it was just above her head in front of her, and dropped it suddenly, pushing down on the air between them until it reached her knees. "Now. Again."

Her effort was half-hearted at best. Her strength was gone, and she could barely get his body to acknowledge her fists. He pushed her back, and she stumbled and fell to the ground, but he caught her before she hit the wood. "Forgive me," he said. "Now, you see?"

She nodded. She was a little dizzy. "I see."

"Again." He gestured for her to sit, and resume.

She wasn't quite sure what he did while she was in deep meditation. He was in the room, or he was every time she opened her eyes, but he didn't follow her example. He sat watching her, or he paced, or he drank. He hid the bottles on the other side of the wall through the hole in the door, but she smelled it on him. She didn't blame him; it was a way to pass the time.

The second week, and still nothing. She took time to play with Alison, but there was a sadness to it she couldn't explain. _Until I figure this out, I take comfort in The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. No, that's a lie. I've never been particularly religious, have I?_ The only one she knew could say that honestly was Grégoire Darcy. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she admitted to her husband.

"I don't know what you're doing," Geoffrey said, but he believed in her. He made that clear. The only time she could forget how much this part of the training bothered her was when she was in his arms at night.

In the third week, Mugen said, "Now hand me your beads."

Reluctantly she did so, unwinding them from her arm and putting them in his hand. "The purpose of a Buddhist mandala is to help count prayers, but it has other uses. Tick off one on your thumb for every count."

"Count of what? Numbers?"

"Numbers, years, anything that brings you back. Master Hyuu would say we are distracted by worldliness. We are unable to look inside ourselves." He handed back the Buddhist rosary. "One for every year of your life."

"I don't have that many years to do."

He smiled. "Then go slowly. Start far and end near. Your memories from your beginning, until now."

She sat for a while before she began. One, two, she didn't remember anything of note. No, that was wrong. She remembered talking to Geoffrey, like he was the only one in the world who could understand her language. Her mother was there to hold her, and her father was there to laugh and make faces, but she couldn't talk to them. Not in her world.

Three. She broke her rule. It hurt Mama so badly she fell down.

Four, five. She liked to play with the boys, not the girls. Her sister was just a baby, even though she could walk.

Six, seven, eight. Edmund was now the baby, but she wasn't as close to Charles as she was to Geoffrey. Lessons on how to be a girl, sit at the table, read and write. She didn't like ribbons. Mugen told her that was all right. He never said no to her. He taught her how to keep secrets.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. She remembered events, not exact numbers. As they came, she could not assign them, but she kept the count anyway. It was something to come back to. She remembered slamming the cover of the pianoforte's keys down on her governess' hands. The punishment wasn't so bad. No more governneses. Mugen told her she was good, that the things she wanted to do were good. Nadezhda cleaned her scraped knees.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. She wasn't the same person anymore, but that didn't bother her so much as being told that. It was her business that she started to bleed. Why did that have to change everything? Why did Geoffrey look at her differently? "You're too old for this" they said, and she couldn't play anymore, not with the boys. She knew she wasn't a boy so that wasn't the problem; she didn't understand theirs. It was their fault, not hers.

Eighteen. Geoffrey didn't love her, her family didn't understand her, and that was just as bad, really, but _Geoffrey didn't love her_. That or he was a coward. Somehow thinking he was a coward made her feel better. Twice in one season she felt real pain for the first time – being shot, and being rejected. The kiss had been nice, though.

More balls, more potential suitors, no Geoffrey. She knew what she couldn't do, and now even Nadezhda was a door shut in front of her so hard it stubbed her toes. Which reminded her, she had to take off her sandals and put on real slippers, like a lady.

Nineteen. She ran into the wilderness and let it claim her. She killed without mercy, she took what she needed from Robert, even if she knew it was wrong. She didn't feel as lonely for that moment, and it was worth it, surely? For the first time, she understood it couldn't last. The forest was a fantasy world, and she had to emerge eventually. They gave her medals for doing so, a school record.

Twenty, one and twenty. Geoffrey was so inept, so spoiled, so cushioned. He had never been in the woods. He had never been forced out of anything he wanted to do or anywhere he wanted to be. That he was capable of hitting anyone was a shock, but that he was capable of standing up to their parents was a bigger one. She was wrong about him; he did understand. He was _happy_ when she was pregnant, something they had tried to avoid. She was scared, but that was all right, because Geoffrey was with her.

Two and twenty. Alison was so perfect, so wonderful, but she took something from her mother when she left the womb. Georgiana felt bad about resenting her for it, and that made it all worse. She cried, but again, Geoffrey was there. He told her he understood. He told her it would pass, and it did.

Three and twenty.

Maybe Mugen was wrong. He said it was all in her gut, but twice it had been invaded, and twice people had stolen things on their way out, like a pickpocket who had been spotted, shoving things in his pockets as he ran out the door. Maybe they took all of her ki. Maybe whatever was left from Alison was stolen by –

His name was Christian, wasn't it?

It wasn't just sad, or hard. It was painful. She sunk down into herself, but there was nothing but pain there. No! She would come back up. Mugen was right. She couldn't do this –

She opened her eyes, and saw all the blood from the hole in her stomach. Her ki was blood. Now she understood! She followed the trail, and the cord of flesh, and knelt to scoot forward on the wooden floor to the limp figure in front of her, turned away. He was so small, he could only be –

She turned him over. His head was so big, his fingers so small and precious, like Alison's had been, but his flesh was blue, and covered in her blood, and his own. His throat was slit. She remembered now. _I killed my son_. _I didn't want him, even though I said I did. I didn't want him to take the last of me. I wanted that for myself. How dare he take my life from me, just like Alison did! I hate him – I hated him. So I killed him. Why, Jorgi, can't you understand that? _

She looked at the body of Christian Darcy, who would have been the apple of his father's eye, the proud heir to Pemberley, and to a long line of Darcys. The one who would have made her Uncle Darcy's life complete, and she had killed him, while he was still attached to her.

_I didn't mean to_. She said it to him, but it was a lie. She meant to. There was that evil side to her, and it wanted a life of its own. The wolf. Or was it self-defense? Her unsteady hands managed to lift the cold form into her arms, above where her belly was torn and bleeding. _What have I done?_

"You didn't deserve me," she whispered. "Come back as someone else, to some better mother."

The baby opened its mouth, but there was nothing inside but an endless black hole. When her dead son screamed, she screamed along with him.

* * *

"Georgie! Georgie, come back to me!"

She didn't want to be touched. Georgiana Darcy tried to flee Geoffrey's grip, and dug her feet into the ground, but the socks just slipped on the wood and she toppled forward into him. For once, he was glad she was so small.

"Jorgi," Mugen said, holding her head so she faced him in some attempt to stabilize her. "Don't hold it in."

"Don't tell her that!" Geoffrey said as she finally succeeded in wrestling herself from his grasp, hurling her fists against his chest. "We have to calm her down!"

"Jorgi. My little ookami," Mugen said, his voice steady and resolved. "Hit me. Hurt me."

Georgie grabbed his arms, and held them so tight she drew blood with her fingernails. Geoffrey, whose main concern was his wife, didn't have time to notice Mugen's face go white until they released each other, and Georgie fled into the safety of Geoffrey's arms. "I killed our baby." Her voice was hoarse for screaming, so hard and so long. Only Mugen had been in the room, and it started very abruptly, and didn't stop until just now. "I killed our baby."

"No," he said, knowing that at that moment, nothing he could say could convince her – not while she was so hysterical. "You did not."

Mugen went to the corner of the room, and picked up an unlabeled bottle. "Let her drink this."

"What is it?"

"A brew of mine."

He did not have the time to argue. Georgie was talking mostly incomprehensibly, but the strength had gone out of her, and he held her limp form as they forced the green brew into her mouth. She coughed up a good amount of it on Geoffrey's kimono, but did manage to get what Mugen judged to be a healthy amount in. Geoffrey carried her across the courtyard and into their bedroom. "Alison, Mama needs her rest." It was not a statement so much as a command. Alison picked up her doll and went into the other room as Geoffrey laid Georgie down. Her stream of nonsense became mutterings, and then dropped off. He knew Mugen was behind him. "What was that?"

"A little tea, a little sake, some sleeping powder."

"You knew this was going to happen?"

"I had an idea."

Geoffrey Darcy saw no better possible action he could take at that moment in time than to punch Mugen in the face. Unfortunately, Mugen was already gone by the time his fist reached its destination, and Geoffrey nearly crashed into the wall before he spun around to face Mugen. He reached into his belt, but his pistol was gone.

Mugen was holding it. He must have taken it before me moved out of the way. "I won't let you shoot me."

Geoffrey tried to catch his breath, but he couldn't calm himself.

"I hid your other guns, by the way. So don't try."

He saw no other option. He wildly lunged himself at Mugen, who held him off. "Don't do this. She needs you now."

"_What did you do to her?"_

"I tried to warn her." He pushed Geoffrey away. "Go to your wife." He stepped out the other door, taking the gun with him, and encountered Alison, who he very politely silenced.

Geoffrey sighed, and sat on the mattress next to Georgiana. She was so pale, and she was shivering. He pulled the blanket up over her. "Don't – don't touch me," she said, but he didn't let her go.

For several hours, an exhausted Georgie slept on, and Geoffrey sat beside her, never releasing her hand. What was he doing, shivering and barefoot in Japan, if he was living in this nightmare all over again? He wasn't sure he could bear it a second time.

"Georgie," he whispered as she stirred. The first thing she did was open her kimono to examine her stomach.

"It's gone," she said. "I don't understand. There was so much blood – "

"You were in a trance," he said. "You were hallucinating." He stroked her cheek. "It wasn't real."

She sat up, closing her robe, and tried to bury her tears in her hand. "It was real. It just happened a long time ago. I killed him."

"No, that's not true. It was an accident."

"How can you say that?"

"You didn't cause it – it just happened. It wasn't meant to be."

"I killed him." She did allow him to touch her, but not to get too close. "I don't remember the funeral."

"You were too sick to go. Your life was still in danger." He sighed, and held her hand to his chest. If that was the intimacy she would allow, so be it. "You didn't kill him. I ... know what did."

She stopped sobbing long enough to look up at him. "What?"

"He was stillborn. You know that. We told you that. That's all it was."

"But – "

"You didn't cause it to happen. You weren't speaking to me, so I didn't want to mention it, because I didn't want to make it worse," he said. He kissed her hand. Maybe she would wipe away some of his own tears. "I saw – him – before the funeral. He looked ... I asked the doctor, and he said that when he came out, the uhm, cord was ..." He twirled his finger around. "It was twisted around his neck. He was strangled."

Georgie gave a horrified cry. Just what he hadn't wanted. "It was an accident, like a child falling out of a tree or contracting a disease. Dr. Dunhill told me it's a common reason for stillbirth, if the baby dies ahead of labor." She covered her mouth to hide her shriek. Not that it worked. "Georgie," he repeated, "it was an accident. You didn't kill anyone."

"I let him die – "

"You would never do that. Georgiana, you are the last person on earth who would let anyone you cared about come to harm if you could prevent it. Would you die for Alison?"

She nodded.

"You can't protect everyone, Georgie. Just like I can't seem to comfort you when you need it. I try, but sometimes I fail." His voice cracked. "We're not perfect."

"We have to be."

"Maybe we think that, because we're parents. But we are not. My mother - ," he choked on a sob, and she knelt closer to him. "My mother lost two children between me and Sarah. And another after Cassandra. But she went on. Aunt Kincaid said it was one of the only times she's ever seen my father cry, but he went on, too. He took Mother to Italy, and they had Sarah, and life went on." He felt her tighten her hand in his. "I'm supposed to be _Mr. Darcy_, who knows all and sees all, and never betrays himself. I thought I couldn't tell anyone how terrified I was that I was going to lose you. That just made it worse." He swallowed. "Tell me what you want, Georgie. Just _tell me_."

She looked down. "I don't know. I wish I could tell you all of my heart's desires but they all seem so unreasonable now. To never feel pain again. To never experience the death of a child. To be perfect – like Mugen."

"Mugen's not perfect," he said. "You can see that now, can't you?"

"He said he never mastered San Soo – he just learned it. There was always that last step, and he was afraid. He told me that weeks ago. He didn't want me to continue. He didn't want me to get hurt."

"But you did it anyway."

"Yes. I wasn't willing to come all this way, only to give up because something was frightening."

"Then you're a stronger person than him. No wonder then, that he wants you as his successor. He's not perfect, but he is clever."

She leapt into his arms, her head pressing against his neck, and wept. He didn't stop her tears, nor his own. The words just came to him. "He knows you're better than him. He knows you're stronger than him. He didn't want anything to hold you back. Not the son who didn't make it into this world, not anything." He tried so hard to laugh. "Remember his story about how his master wanted to be reincarnated as a woman? I had a good laugh over that, but Mugen was so serious."

"Mugen said, before we started, that he could never open his heart to anyone. His master at least had his gods. That was why Mugen never mastered it, and seems to think he never will."

Geoffrey held his tongue about that; if any time was the right time, it definitely wasn't now. "And who didn't open her heart, but pledged it to me before I was even ready to listen?"

She did not respond, but she tugged on his kimono. At least she had stopped actively sobbing.

"You didn't kill our son. You're not capable of it."

"I didn't kill our son." She sounded like she didn't believe it, or that the words were alien to her. "It still hurts."

"It always will, I suppose. One can only hope the good in our life will outweigh the bad. And considering all that we have been blessed with, I cannot honestly say that it does not."

"Even right now?"

While he was crying, and his heart was beating so rapidly against hers, and she was sobbing in his arms over something that could never be fixed, replaced, or even fully exonerated from their past? "Yes. Even right now."

...Next Chapter - Alison's Wish

* * *


	33. Alison's Wish

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 33 - Alison's Wish

The next few days were difficult on the Darcys. Georgiana woke up the first few nights screaming in terror, which of course woke Alison.

"We shouldn't dismiss her," Geoffrey said, even though she would have to room with Danny for a little while. "She is three. She deserves an explanation."

Georgie nodded and knelt before Alison, who was a bit frightened of her. "Alison, we've decided to let you sleep in Cousin Danny's room for a few nights."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not feeling well, and I have bad dreams, and I keep waking you. It's not very polite." She stroked her long hair. "You deserve to sleep peacefully."

"Why are you sick?"

"I have been feeling sick for a long time, but now I'm getting better."

"I have to go away until you feel better?"

"No," she said. "Sometimes you sleep in a different room from us. This is the same."

"I'm not making you sick, am I?"

"No, of course not." She smiled for her. "You could never do that. I love you." She pulled her into an embrace. "I love you, Alison."

"I love you, Mama."

When was the last time she heard that? She kissed her daughter, who seemed so much bigger now. She didn't want to let her go, but it was late and she had to. "Now get some rest, because we're going to have fun tomorrow!" She tickled Alison as she'd seen Geoffrey do on her stomach, and it seemed to get a giggle out of her daughter, whom she escorted to Danny's room. He did not require an explanation.

Georgie returned to bed, and her husband's arms, and slept the remainder of the night without any nightmares.

* * *

While he was not hiding himself, she did not speak to Mugen but for a few phrases for several days. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that she needed to recover, and he needed to give her time to decide to come back to him as a student. Instead, she spent the days with Alison. While Danny was sparring with Hachiro, they took Alison out to play in the snow, and helped her build a snowman. It was the only time Geoffrey admitted to having given up his boots, because instead he wore snow boots made of woven straw.

"They look ridiculous," he grumbled, but Georgie took his hand and smiled, and that made his frown go away.

She was not always so happy. She was given to break into spontaneous sobbing, which happened in a few awkward circumstances. Fortunately none of them were public save one. They'd gone to the shoe store to get one of Geoffrey's high geta repaired, and for no reason that they could discern, Georgie started crying during a conversation with the old woman who was in the middle of fixing one of the teeth of his sandal. She turned away.

Geoffrey bowed. "Gomen." (_Sorry_)

The old woman smiled, and insisted that Georgie come back over, and not hide in the cold shadows. "Some of us wondered if you were human, Jorgi-san. It is good to show signs that you are."

"She's not feeling well," Geoffrey said automatically.

"I know a woman's pain very well, Okappiki-san. There is no shame in it," she replied.

"Gomen," Georgie said as she wiped her eyes, and was not too embarrassed for them not to remain in the store long enough for the shoes to be repaired.

* * *

Georgie knew when she was ready to talk to Mugen again. She wasn't angry, or hurt by him in particular, but like any wound, it took time to heal. She was tense as they sat down together, her not dressed for training, and him slightly inebriated.

"Sensei," she said, meeting his reddened eyes for the first time. Had he been hiding from his pain at the bottom of a bottle? "I apologize for what damage I might have caused you. I don't remember it clearly, but Geoffrey said you almost passed out."

"Heh!" he chuckled, but his voice was still very heavy. "I've had worse. Did you know he tried to punch me?"

"_He did?_"

"Well, of course, husband finds his wife hysterical and her guardian just watching over her, what's he going to do? What he's been threatening to do. He would have pulled a gun on me, too, if I hadn't taken it away from him. Gaijin and their toys." He shook his head. "It was his first response to the crisis, because he's a man. I knew it was coming."

"Is that why you asked me about the stillbirth?" she said.

"I knew it was coming, yes. I was trying to prepare you. I didn't want to see you get hurt."

"You know I wasn't – am not – over my son's death."

"Why else would you be running from it?"

The question struck her like a physical blow. She hardened herself to keep from crying. She had done enough of that today. She was not entirely successful, but he didn't chastise her for it.

"I'll tell you something. When Master Hyuu told me about Hmang Shin, the student who killed himself, I thought it was bullshit that I was the reincarnation of some Chinese crazy enough to throw himself off a balcony. I've always wanted to survive. One of the much older students, one that did like me enough to talk to me, told me that Master Hyuu was terribly stricken over Hmang Shin's death. He sat in mourning for a year, much longer than necessary. He freely admitted that he would resign his post if he had a successor, but he had none. Some of the older members, like this man, had to run the temple. Finally, Master Hyuu had a vision, probably because he was starving himself and locked up, of Hmang as a little boy, playing on the beach of an island. He'd never known him as a boy, and he knew the island was not on the Chinese coast. That was the nature of the vision. So he said he would devote himself to the worship of Kwan Yin, Goddess of Compassion, and give his whole heart to her if she would return Hmang to him someday.

"One day, when I was having one of the conversations with Master Hyuu where I was scoffing at his beliefs, he told me a little of it. He said it was not enough that I finally came, but also he needed the vision, because he was lost, and he had to recover and move on with his studies and his prayers before he could train his next successor. He had failed his last attempt, and it ended so tragically that it nearly killed him as well, from grief. He had to accept that life was suffering, but through Righteous paths he could know peace, and that was how he truly came to understand everything, including San Soo."

They fell into a tired silence. She still suffered, and Mugen suffered because she suffered.

Maybe it was time to ask the question, and maybe it wasn't. Either way she said, "What happens when you do the meditation? May I ask?"

"You may ask, but I may not answer the question." He sat there, for quite a while, longer than an appropriate pause in the conversation. "I felt a terrible loneliness. It overwhelmed me."

She knew it was better not to ask more of him, if he had something else to give. He never asked the specifics of her vision, and she wouldn't have liked to recount them. "What happens now? I turn my pain into a weapon?"

"You can, but it will destroy you. Or so my master told me." He turned his empty sake dish over and over. "Chinese doctors manipulate ki to make someone feel better – when there is a blockage in the lines, they make it flow again with metal pins. The intentional manipulation of your own ki, obviously, relies on there not being a blockage. Unfortunately, it all emanates from that terrible place inside you, so you have to face your demons because you can master them. When you want to try again, it will not be as bad. This I can promise you, but you have to be ready."

"I need time."

He gave her an encouraging smile. "I know."

* * *

"Mama! Look!"

Georgie put her daughter's hand down, the one she wasn't holding. "Alison. It's rude to point. What is it?"

"I want that!" Of course she pointed again. Her finger was directed at two geishas, an older one and her apprentice, heading down the street towards a fabric shop. They walked slowly in their high clog-style geta, their faces painted white, and bowed so politely to the gaijin family.

"We're not buying you a geisha," Geoffrey said, stifling his laughter. "Besides, you have enough gifts already. I don't know how you expect us to get them home."

"No, Papa. I want to be that!"

"No!" both her parents shouted, and she looked up at them, her confusion evident on her face.

"I think she means she wants to be pretty," Geoffrey said.

"That's from your side, then." She didn't want to kneel in the snow, so she leaned over. "You are beautiful anyway. You cannot be a geisha – "

"No!" She pulled herself loose of her mother's grasp. "No no no no!" She ran off, kicking up the light dusting of snow, in the direction of the geishas. Georgie had to catch her and pick her up, but she was crying and stretching her arms out at them, as if they would save her from this tyrant.

"So sorry," Georgie bowed. "She doesn't understand."

"That's quite all right," the elder geisha said, and returned the bow. She waved to Alison. "Good girls listen to their parents." She smiled before they entered the store.

"I want to wear colors!" Alison said as her mother carried her back to be under Geoffrey's umbrella.

"You are wearing colors. Just not that many," she said.

"Geishas aren't technically whores," Geoffrey said in English so Alison couldn't understand them. "In larger areas they're actually very respectable paid companions. You buy their time for conversation and entertainment. They're trained in music, singing, dancing, playing an instrument, polite conversation ..." He laughed. "Just like a lady of the Ton, come to think of it."

"Stop!"

"Only you didn't get paid by the hour when you went to balls and made small talk with men only interested in how much your inheritance was and how low your dress was cut. I think the geishas may have a better deal."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Stop it."

"If my daughter wishes to be an accomplished young lady someday, I have no objections."

"As long as it's not an accomplished young lady _of the night_."

He looked down at his daughter. "Of course not. Right, Ali-chan?"

"Right!" she said in Japanese, having no idea what she was responding to.

* * *

Geoffrey woke as usual to Georgie's stifled scream, as she sat up and remembered where she was. "You're fine," he said, rolling to face her. "I'm here." She shied away from his touch at first, but he held her hand until it stopped shaking. "What is it? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm sorry for waking you."

He grinned. "I don't have a very oppressing schedule tomorrow." He pulled her into him. "Tell me." He knew where her other hand was. He reached through her kimono and took it away. "There's nothing wrong with your stomach. It's as it was when you went to sleep." He stroked her belly. "Perfect."

"_Geoffrey_."

"I mean it."

Georgie laid in silence for a while, as her breathing steadied. "You're going to think it's silly."

"I won't."

"You will."

He kissed her hand. "I won't."

"I have this fear that – not just that I'm cut open, but that I'm _damaged_. You know."

"I don't."

"You know what it means. When a woman is damaged – barren. That I won't be able to have more children, or that something will go wrong every time."

His heart skipped a beat. "Are your worried that something will go wrong, but still want more children?" It wasn't a question he'd dared to ask.

"Of course - eventually. Now that I think of it ... I don't want Alison to be alone. And I have to have an heir – "

"You don't _have_ to do anything." From nowhere, he started laughing.

"Geoffrey! You promised!"

"I'm not laughing _at_ you. It's just – I was beginning to give up hope that you wanted more children. Even if it never happens, the mere fact that you – " He was lost for words. He just kissed her. "You've made me very happy already."

"Truly?"

"Of course." He grinned. "I do like agreeing with my wife, when the occasion presents itself. Yes, I would like more children, if the opportunity comes our way."

"And an heir."

"I suppose, but I am partial to girls. We had one, and she's turned out rather well, hasn't she?"

"She wants to be a whore!"

He laughed. "She wants to wear a shiny kimono. It's quite different."

She giggled. "All right. Maybe a small difference."

"We can only hope."

* * *

It was late in the morning when Mugen emerged from whatever hangover he had and could be found outside. His geta kept him out of the snow, and the sun was out, so his eyes were mostly closed. His form was slow and careful, unlike the Japanese samurai with their relentless practice methods. He could speed it up, but he did not.

"Sensei," Georgie said, standing on the porch and bowing.

He stood up straight, retracting his outstretched hands, and nodded to her, waiting for her to speak, even though he knew what she was going to say. There was only one thing to say.

"I'm ready to start again."

...Next Chapter - The Bet

* * *


	34. The Bet

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

**Warning:** Some disturbing imagery in this chapter, but very little in comparison to previous chapters.

* * *

Chapter 34 – The Bet

"Cousin Danny!" Alison shouted from the platform, raising both her hands in the air.

"Don't distract him, dear," Geoffrey said. Alison was in his lap, and Georgie and Mugen next to him as Danny Maddox succeeded in maintaining his concentration enough to get Hachiro in a lock. Their wooden blades pushed against each other, and since neither man was significantly stronger, Danny attempted to move around him, but Hachiro matched him and they ended up running sideways, almost into the wall. The only sound was their feet gliding across the wooden floor.

Hachiro finally slammed down hard on the gloves on Danny's hands, making him drop the bokken. Danny bowed. "I yield."

"Cousin Danny!" Alison said, with the same enthusiasm as if he'd won.

Hachiro laughed as they removed their helmets. "Very good."

"Getting much better," Sanjuro said, sitting against the other wall. He was sitting up for the first time in several weeks, with the warmer weather helping him breathe. "Good job, Dani-chan."

Danny bowed, and stepped back to take some water. Hachiro knelt before the platform with the Darcys. "You had a request?"

"My student will fight you," Mugen said, "but she can only use jinjitsu moves."

"Jorgi-san, have you been trained in jinjitsu?"

"No, but I've watched it."

Hachiro turned back to Mugen. "Do you want me to go easy on her?"

"No. I want her to go easy on you."

They laughed, and Georgie kissed Geoffrey and armored up. "Remember what I said," Mugen whispered to her, "you can only use the moves he uses."

"He knows them better than me!"

"Oi, why should that matter? Learn fast!" He slapped her on the back. "And don't lose! I have money on this!"

"Is it our money?" Geoffrey said.

"Of course it is. But if you'll feel better, it'll just go to Sanjuro."

Since he was supporting both of them, Geoffrey shrugged. "I suppose it does."

They bowed, and Hachiro took his stance. Georgie, sans geta, took the same. She attacked first with a traditional cut to the neck, he blocked. He attacked, she blocked the same way. He pushed, she pushed back. She abandoned her usual style of quick footwork and dirty tricks, which meant she abandoned her speed advantage and went full-on as he did, and she wasn't as strong. He pushed her back again and again, and she only responded in another push, but she wasn't strong enough to succeed.

"Jorgi," Mugen said, leaning against the post, "concentrate."

Hachiro struck and she blocked, and they lowered their wooden blades to try to swipe at each other, resulting in another lock. This time he did the same move as he'd done on Danny, but struck her sword instead of her gloves to knock it out of her hands. He succeeded, and stepped back to give her time to scramble to retrieve her lost bokken. As she got to her feet, she repeated the strike, he blocked, and she struck again, just as he had, to knock the blade out of his hands. Only this time, it broke.

Hachiro stepped back, dropping his broken sword, and bowed slowly. "I yield."

She dropped her sword, which was splintered but not broken, and bowed back. She was breathing too heavy to speak, and Mugen ran to help her get her helmet off so she could breathe. Despite having won, she was more winded than Hachiro was.

"Oi, Hachiro-san, what was that?" Sanjuro said. "I'm out 40 bu!"

"I'm sorry, sensei," Georgie said. She was unsteady on her feet, and after bowing again to Hachiro, she sat down to remove her chest gear.

"That's why you were using a wooden sword. I'll show you." Mugen went to the rack, and retrieved two katanas, one of which he handed to Hachiro. "It's not sharp. Can you hold it like you did when the other broke?"

Looking a tad nervous, Hachiro did so.

"Now." Mugen raised his sword, and lowered it slowly onto the spot. "You struck the hard edge of the sword, of course, so unless he had one of inferior quality, it probably wouldn't break. If he slants his own blade at all, your ki will just follow his blade, taking the path of least resistance. If he's holding it tipped one way, your whole sword will side off his to the side and you'll probably dig your blade into the ground, leaving you open. If he tips it up, you'll cut off his hands." He demonstrated the different directions, then pulled back the sword. "Domo." (_Thanks_) He bowed.

"I've never seen a bokken broken like that – not by someone your size. No offense, Jorgi-chan," Hachiro said.

"None taken," she replied, recovering herself.

"It is incredible." Hachiro regarded Mugen with new eyes.

"It is only as my sensei taught me," he said dismissively, and returned to his post.

"Then I've learned never to bet against your sensei's teachings," Sanjuro said.

* * *

"The essence of San Soo in practice is adaptation," Mugen said, sitting in private with Georgiana. "But speed and tricks will only get you so far. Mastery of ki is needed for ultimate success."

Georgie sat across from him, now with her armor removed. "I can't do it of my own will all the time. And even when I do, it's so draining."

"You are harnessing it with your anger," he replied. "Not only is it dangerous, it is unpredictable. There is only one way to master it." He took the offered tea that Georgie poured for him. "It will not be as bad this time."

She left her own tea untouched, and played with the beads in her hands.

"You know that it isn't real, even if your feelings are."

She counted back with him. It was the quickest way into the meditative state, where she became less aware of the reality of the room, until she couldn't hear Mugen's voice. She could hear a voice, but she was no longer aware of its identity, nor did she care.

She looked down at the baby in her arms. He cooed at her, and her first instinct was to laugh, and shower him with all of the praise simply for existing and being adorable. This was her son, and he deserved it. All of the horrible thoughts she threw across the room, against the wooden walls of the tiny home. He deserved better than that, and she wanted to enjoy this moment, even if it wasn't real.

The maid came to take her son away. Christian started to cry, and the maid rocked him, singing in some only mildly familiar language. Was it Swedish? Dutch? She stroked his blond hair.

Wait – Christian wasn't blond. He had never been before. The maid was speaking to his father. Georgiana was sure it was Swedish, or perhaps some other Nordic language, and he responded in kind, his eyes shining brightly with the glory of newfound fatherhood.

Feeling as though she was an intruder, she floated above this happy family in this happy place. She was leaving him, but it was the proper thing to do. "I love you," she said to her son, and left that place, to return to where she had been before.

"Georgie?" It was Geoffrey's voice. She opened her eyes, but it took a long time for them to focus. He was standing over Mugen. "Come back."

_I'll take as long as I damn well please!_ But she couldn't enunciate. She didn't really want to leave her state, comfortable as it was. She looked down at her hands, which were burning hot, and pressed them down on the cooler wood. She couldn't hear the hiss and the transfer wasn't painful, but she was cognizant of it.

"If anything happened to her – "

"Oi, don't push her."

She supposed she ought to break up their argument before it escalated. That didn't seem fair. "What is it?"

"Georgie?" Geoffrey embraced her. "We were worried about you."

"What? Why?"

"You were out for several hours," Mugen explained in a much calmer voice.

It didn't seem that way, but she saw no reason to doubt him. "I saw our baby," she said. "I saw him again. He's somewhere else now."

"Heaven."

"No ... with another family." It still hurt. It would always hurt a little; that was what Geoffrey said. It was all right to cry. It was always all right to cry in Geoffrey's arms. It felt comfortable there.

"Have some tea," Mugen said, after she was ready. How did he know? Her hands were still shaking, but not enough to drop the cup. Eventually she began to return to her surroundings, very conscious of the departing sensation that she had left them behind. "It won't be this way, all the time," he promised her.

The important part was, she believed him.

* * *

"Don't you look official," Georgie said as Kiso helped Geoffrey with the front ties of the jacket to his new kimono.

"This is your last chance to go with me."

"With the new outfit the magistrate gave Danny? It would be a crime."

"That's just your excuse," he said. It was not entirely untrue. The daimyo summoned the magistrate just before planting season as usual, and the magistrate opted to bring his popular okappiki and his bodyguard. By now, Magistrate Matayasu had learned that he was less likely to be pushed around or irritated in negotiations with Geoffrey's pacifying presence and reasonable tone. Since they relied on his approval to stay in Imbe, Geoffrey was happy to oblige, but had not seen the daimyo since their fateful visit over the purchased rice. He certainly was never there in any official capacity before. "Wish me luck."

"Come home in one piece," she said, and kissed him.

"That's not the same," he said as Danny entered.

"Good luck," she told her cousin.

"And now you learn the true meaning of the samurai," Mugen said from his seat by the doorway. "Administrative conferences."

"Sensei, don't."

"I can take it," Danny said. "If we're not to be back tonight, we'll send word."

"Of course."

As they stepped out to join the magistrate's small caravan, Mugen shouted, "No rescue for under 20 ryo! Remember that!"

* * *

The small caravan of whatever retainers the magistrate could muster arrived at the castle town that surrounded the daimyo's castle just before dusk. They consisted of two palanquin-bearers for the magistrate (hired), four of his servants, Geoffrey, and Danny Maddox. Geoffrey realized how he'd grown unused to being stared at since the locals accepted him as part of their colorful landscape, and here it began anew, though this time they looked down on him, even though he was taller. He chuckled.

"Why are you laughing?" Danny whispered in English.

"Because I've seen some of the samurai staring at us so self-righteously before, in brothels."

Danny laughed, which earned him a stern glare from one of the magistrate's attendants, and he straightened up and covered his mouth the rest of the way to the castle.

Their initial audience was smaller and more familiar, if only between the magistrate and the daimyo. The magistrate, after all, was samurai, and reported to the daimyo for many years, though one would hardly call them friends. Danny was relieved of his long sword, and they all bowed to the ground before the daimyo. He had less samurai standing around him this visit. After formalized introductions, tea was set in front of them.

"O-Magistrate-san," the daimyo said. "I have inspected the maps I have of my domain and decided to do another land survey, to see if more land can be irrigated and used for the planting. If it can not be done in time for this season, certainly it will be ready for the next spring."

Geoffrey looked to the magistrate, who bowed, but did not seem pleased with the news, "My lord, may I inquire if you are intending to do Imbe and its outlying villages before the rest of your domain?"

"No, I am only doing Imbe," he said. "All of our other assessments seem to be fine."

Geoffrey wasn't entirely sure, but he guessed the daimyo's motivation was to find a way to claim more land that could be used for farming and therefore, further taxed.

"My lord, I humbly submit my advice on the matter: Surveys have been completed at least every ten years since my grandfather's time, and there is no further land available for cultivation. More to the point, a formal survey will be expensive, and not necessarily reflect actual conditions."

"I believe there is land just to the northwest of your house that could be leveled properly for a rice harvest."

The magistrate bowed again. "I will remind my lord that not only was this land surveyed previously and found not arable because of the number of rocks from the mountainside that have fallen down over the centuries, but also because it is marked for temple use as a graveyard for the next generation. Our population is booming, and we will need more space."

"The graves can be stacked on top of each other!" the daimyo shouted.

They all bowed.

"You will consider it, and in the morning we will discuss the costs," the daimyo said.

The magistrate was not pleased with this news, but when he looked, Geoffrey could only shrug. He had nothing to offer at this stage. The magistrate was expecting him to get them out of this; he knew that much. He just didn't know how, or if it was even possible.

After sending a messenger back to Imbe to announce their overnight stay, the four of them sat down for a feast with several of the daimyo's samurai. Each man sat on a cushion in front of his own tray, with very little being shared in common. Geoffrey looked down at the various bowls and couldn't identify half of what was before him, but he found it fairly good, at least for Japanese food. Unfortunately, none of it seemed to be meat, though he tried to pretend with some particularly well-flavored bean.

"Okappiki-san," the daimyo said, "I must admit we are very interested in hearing some tales from your country. What is your status there? Are you a merchant?"

He bowed. "I must humbly remind my lord that we foreigners are forbidden to discuss particulars of our lifestyle, for fear of infecting your superior culture with our barbarian one."

There was a round of laughter, most of it coming from the daimyo. "We are a long way from Edo and the obnoxious officials at Nagasaki, Okappiki-san."

"I am not a merchant," Geoffrey said. "My father is a daimyo, and when he dies, I will take his place."

The silence in the room was broken only when someone dropped their bowl, though it didn't make much of a sound against the tatami mat floor.

"Your father owns considerable land, then?" the daimyo said, far more cautiously.

"Hai, some would say that. Some of it is used for crops, but mainly the people raise sheep."

"What is this, sheep?" said the daimyo's samurai attendant.

"It's an animal, smaller than a cow. If you shave it, you can use the hair to make fine wool. If you kill it, you can eat the meat."

"That is where wool comes from?" said one of the samurai to his far left. He seemed disgusted, probably at the mention of eating meat, or animals. Their wool was imported or made in other regions, and these samurai had probably never been farther than Edo.

"Hai, O-samurai-sama. That is where wool comes from. Every year there is a great festival where the sheep are sheared, and the hair is sold and turned into wool. It is very profitable."

One of the samurai had a shaven head mostly covered by a white cloth, indicating he was a priest. "Is it harmful to the animals?"

"Not at all. In fact, I believe it is a relief. Before we shear them, they must find all of that hair uncomfortable."

"Oi, O-gaijin-samurai," said the daimyo, meaning Danny. "Are you also a daimyo?"

"No, my lord. I am just a samurai." This elicited chuckles from the Japanese samurai. "My father is a doctor."

"His father was a physician to our emperor," Geoffrey said, not knowing the Japanese word for 'king' and unwilling to call George IV a shōgun (warlord). "He is now retired, and teaches at our best school. Dani-san is just very modest about it."

"As a samurai should be," said the samurai-priest.

"It is late now," said the daimyo, "but I would request from you a demonstration of your legendary skills with a rifle."

Clearly the daimyo didn't know the difference between a rifle and a pistol, which is what he had on him, or that Geoffrey had only shot his pistol in front of people once since his arrival at Imbe, and that was into the air to frighten a samurai. "Forgive me, my lord, but I am expressly forbidden to do so by the government, and that is not an oath I will break."

"Then we are deprived our spectacle. No matter – I would not disobey Edo, either!" the daimyo said, and there was more laughter, but Geoffrey could not help but think that in this case, the daimyo happily would have.

* * *

"Sensei!" Georgiana called, but she could not find him in his room, or the practice room. Even Sanjuro did not know where he was. At last she found the mighty Mugen in Alison's new room, which they had recently requested use of (and received) from the magistrate. The old warrior at one end of the tray, and Alison at the other, with several dolls on each side, as she poured him imaginary tea.

"Stop laughing," he barked, but Georgie could not. "Annoying gaijin, always pestering me!" He stood up, but Alison looked ready to cry.

"Mugen-san, finish your tea. Please?"

He frowned at her, raised the cup to his lips like he was drinking, and set it down again. "Very good, little girl."

Alison beamed proudly all the way through dinner. Kiso informed them that Sanjuro would not be joining them, and they ate in relative silence except to help Alison with her chopsticks, instead of just letting her stuff the rice balls into her mouth. Finally she announced she was done and left the table to go to her room, without a single bow or acknowledgment.

"I suppose I should have stopped her," Georgie said.

"Lazy parent."

Before Georgie could respond, Kiso entered and reported back that Sanjuro had declined to eat dinner.

"Make sure he has the broth, even if you have to feed it to him," Georgie said, and Kiso bowed and left. "Maybe we should call the doctor."

"Oi, what's the point? The doctor can't help him now; Sanjuro knows that." Mugen was serious about it. "He is going to die soon. He just has not decided what to do about it."

"What do you mean, Sensei?"

"He shouldn't commit hara-kiri. Despite being a jobless samurai, he hasn't done anything shameful except contract a disease. He doesn't feel he qualifies for a death to restore honor that hasn't been lost, but he doesn't want to waste away, either. He wants to die in combat, like a samurai." He poured another dish of sake. "Or he could just go do something shameful. I would be happy to join him on that, but always, he refuses!"

"Mugen," she chided. "I'm sure he wouldn't consider that appropriate."

"You would be surprised. But he does want to die of something other than disease."

"Are you going to oblige him?"

"If he asks me." He sighed. "I think he wants Dani-chan to do it."

"Danny?"

"Hai, it would be a great honor. And Dani can't be a samurai without having the will to kill in combat. Either Dani will walk away, and return to England, or he will help Sanjuro end his life and gain an understanding of it." He shook his head. "This is why I hate this bushido bullshit."

She frowned. "I'm inclined to agree with you."

"Oi, it's not so bad. Dani wants to be this noble samurai protector, like Brian-chan must have told him out of a book, and to do that, he has to be ready to kill. Not everyone has that in them. Or so some would say, but I think we are more ruthless than that."

"You don't give mankind much credit."

He grinned. "I don't."

"Except when it's little girls."

He huffed, but did not respond to his student's mocking laughter.

...Next Chapter - The Potter's Field

* * *


	35. The Potter’s Field

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 35 – The Potter's Field

Not to any surprise, the magistrate was not in a good mood when he summoned Geoffrey and Danny to his chambers that evening. He suggested they walk outside in the gardens, with Danny trailing them behind. There, at least theoretically, they would have some privacy.

"You have to get us out of the survey!"

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you think too highly of my abilities."

The magistrate tugged him along, determined to keep moving. "Every time the lines are redrawn, they are always to his favor. He designates more land that isn't arable for farming, the irrigation is expensive, and then he taxes based on the assumption that the land is quality."

"I assume this is completely legal and he is within his right to do so?"

"Of course. That's the beauty of it."

Geoffrey nodded. "Who does the surveying? Is it someone from within the domain? That would be more to his favor, would it not?"

"It would, but we could instead petition for an official designation from Edo. The government will send someone who is impartial as one gets – which means already interested in pleasing the daimyo – and it will get worse when he is bribed."

"No offense meant, O-Magistrate-sama, but what is your concern? You get your portion based on the total taxes, only you take it before the daimyo gets it. If he redraws the lines so there is a larger taxable portion of land whether it's arable or not, you'll get more rice per year."

The magistrate looked truly flustered by the whole thing. "It's not as simple as that!"

"It seems like it should be. Your stipend comes from the rice tax. If more rice is required to pay for the tax, your stipend is higher. What's not to understand?" He kept walking. "Unless you have another source of income."

"What about the good of the farmers?"

"Forgive me, but this is the first time I've heard you discuss what would be best for the farmers."

The magistrate growled. "You're too clever, you barbarians. The real money in Imbe is in the artisans, who have to pay a tax to have a shop in town."

"This is the first I've heard of it." Meaning, the magistrate was doing it semi-illegally or just quietly, and taking all the money himself. "Surely you, as a samurai of the daimyo, are sending him his portion?"

"That is none of your business, that is between me and the daimyo."

"So you aren't." He merely smiled. "Go on."

"The only reason the town is flourishing is because the farmers in the villages are growing enough to sell their surplus to the craftsmen, or gamble their earnings at the dens, or drink themselves to death at the tavern. Without the farmers, the town would die. All of the good potters would leave if the farmers revolted after the survey, which they will. That's why we can't allow it to happen."

"I understand." They had paused for a while now, and nodded to Danny, then moved on, deeper into the maze of a garden that was mainly rocks and very small bushes. "Isn't the daimyo due for his visitation in Edo?" The daimyo spent alternating years between Edo and their domains, to insure their loyalty to the government. "He's been here since I arrived."

"He is – in three months."

"When would the surveyor come, if we agreed to it tomorrow?"

"A month at most, if all went smoothly."

"And if it didn't?"

"If it didn't what?"

"Go smoothly. What if the surveyor came while the daimyo was in Edo? Would it be easier to manipulate him to the gain of the farmers?"

The magistrate considered it. "Yes, I think it would be much easier."

"So then it simply becomes a matter of how to stall the surveyor," Geoffrey said. "If I know anything about government, there's some way to insure that everything gets stalled and takes triple the time it should. We just have to figure out how."

"And by tomorrow."

He could only nod. "I suppose so."

* * *

The magistrate's house was asleep, all lamps extinguished but for two, lit on the floor near Mugen's room. Sanjuro finally stopped coughing long enough to take his evening medicine and fall asleep, and Alison was put to bed despite her protests about missing her father.

"She's so spoiled," Georgie said. "I don't know what we're going to do when we return to England, and she doesn't see him every day."

"She grows up. It is good for her, no?"

They retreated to Mugen's room. He really owned nothing except his clothing, the beaded bracelet with the Buddhist charm, and whatever money he currently had with him. He had not yet replaced his broken sword. Georgiana suspected Sanjuro would gift him his, but not until his death, so she didn't bring it up.

Mugen made her draw the lines of ki on the sketch of the man over and over again. He taught her of impossibilities, of moving ki around. "I never mastered it. You will, but not for a long time. You just have to know it."

The night was warmer than any in a long time, and they fought in the yard, where the contest was once held. "Block me," he said. "With ki, not your sword." It was easier said than done. It was harder to block with a metaphorical concept than a piece of folded steel. Even with his inferior blade left over from the Tanaka gang, he was able to force her back. "No! Wrong!"

She dug her feet into the ground and blocked, again he knocked her back, and she had to grab hold of the tree to keep from falling over.

"No, wrong!" he said. "The ki is in the air around you, in the ground below you, in that tree. Make use of it! Again!"

How could she call up the wind? She wasn't some sort of magical beast, capable of calling up earth spirits to her aid. She closed her eyes briefly, and took a deep breath. Her hands were hot again, and if she stepped back and repeated the moves in the old form he had written for her so long ago, just now on him –

Too late. He swung and hit her, and she was too distracted to do a serious block. The edge of his blade slid across hers and she felt it connect with her arm. She knew better than to cry, but it had cut through her clothing.

"Jeffrey-chan is going to kill me," he said, replacing his blade. "Stream water is the best. It's flowing, like ki."

They walked out into the woods and found the stream, where she washed her wound and he bandaged it with a strip of cloth torn from his obi. It was only then that she let out the breath she'd been holding, and realized how exhausted she was.

"You almost had it," he said. "It was impressive. You had the ki, but you didn't have time to use it. It's like this." He put his hands in the stream and raised them, letting the water flow through his fingers. "Trying to hold water. Oi, does it hurt, Jorgi-chan?"

"No," she lied. It did hurt, just not all that much.

He smiled, and she knew he knew she was lying. "I didn't say it was going to be easy."

"I know."

She laid down on the slope, and he did the same next to her, looking up at the sky. "In China, I had to sew my own wounds shut. If it was that bad ... I wouldn't make you. I'm a bad sensei."

"If that's your only fault, you're doing all right," she said, finally taking her hand off her arm. The bandages worked, and she did not bleed through them. "Geoffrey will kill you though."

"What is it you say in England?"

"What?"

"When you want to hide when someone is hurting you."

She laughed. "I fell down the stairs."

"Hai, you did that. Right down the temple stairs. We go with that."

"It's for the best."

They shared a laugh, and fell into a tired silence.

"I wish I could do this more slowly. More carefully."

She was shocked by the admission. "I don't want special treatment."

"I don't want you to get hurt, either. Or die. I'm not waiting for the next student to come around who's as good as you. That would take a generation! What am I supposed to do until then?"

"You mean my reincarnation."

"I don't believe in that."

She checked her bandage again. It was down to a mild sting. "Why do you keep saying that? You obviously do. Why else would you tell me?"

"You asked," he said. "If you are, it's none of my business, all of this fate controlling our lives. We are who we are and we would never have guessed it if we tried. Why assume it is under command? That takes all the fun out of it. If I have to answer to someone, it'll be at least someone I can see and hear, and I don't even want to answer to _them_."

"But you do believe in Nirai Kanai. You said you were there."

He sighed. "Hai. I was very close to death several times. But I didn't listen to the spirits, even then. I told them I didn't want to go, and they sent me back. Or rejected me; who knows? I didn't stick around to ask." He turned his head to her. "Oi, what's this about? You don't believe in reincarnation, either. You believe in Dead Buddha."

"He has a name, you know."

"Ah, but you can't speak it here, can you?"

"I'm not a priest or a nun," she said, ignoring his question. "I don't think I ever could be, celibacy aside, but I suppose if it came down to it, I would have Christ and the church. Not that I've done that before, but the option is there. It comes with being English and Western."

"Dead gods smell bad."

"What?"

"It's true. In Buddhism, gods die, and you know they're about to, because they start to smell bad, and all the other gods retreat from them to get away from the smell. That's how they know."

She covered her mouth. "Now you're fooling with me!"

"A monk who was determined to straighten me out once told me this. From his lips to mine, I swear it. You have a smelly dead god."

She gave him a little shove. "Mugen!"

"So now you're religious! Ah, but not so much, because you're laughing."

She wished she could deny it. She felt it was better to shove him harder than actually respond.

* * *

Geoffrey was restless alone in bed, without Georgie clinging to his side, so it was he, not his samurai bodyguard, who heard the intruder first. Danny would have to fend for himself. Geoffrey threw off the covers in a grand gesture and pointed his pistol at the opened door. "Who's there?"

She entered slowly, her gown trailing for effect. He did not drop his gun, even though he knew very well her intentions. "So sorry. You have the wrong room."

"We do not, O-Okappiki-sama," she said, letting the other girl follow her. He heard a sword drawn, and Danny scrambled to his feet, but he wasn't wearing his glasses.

"Who's there? What is it?"

"Don't wave that around! You'll take my head off," Geoffrey said. "It's two geisha," he said in English. "I suppose they're a present from the daimyo. Or they mean to poison us somehow."

"We are here on behalf of our lord," said one of the geisha, holding her robe closed. "Would you like a massage?"

"Pardon me; I'm married," Geoffrey said, and turned back to Danny. "While I can't exactly condone you, if we were in Cambridge together, I would only turn my back – "

"I'm not my brother!" Danny said, feeling for his glasses. Geoffrey found them and he put them on. "I can – oh." He finally had a good look at the geisha. "Geoffrey, we shouldn't let them – "

"I'm not letting them do anything to me. I'm a married man." He whispered. "And yes, I know all about the whore in Imbe."

"Wha – what are you talking about?"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. "I won't tell your father. That's a promise."

"This isn't about that!"

"I know it is. Now, are you sending them away or not? I can sleep somewhere else."

"No!" he said, without thinking. "I mean – yes. We are sending them away this instant." He said in Japanese, "Our apologies, ladies, but we must decline your gracious offer."

They bowed, if very seductively. "Are masters sure?"

"They look so disappointed," Danny said.

"If you want that to be your excuse – "

"For the last time, no!"

Geoffrey shrugged. "Thank you, but we are sure."

They eventually left, though it took some encouragement. Geoffrey sighed and put his head back on the pillow. "You have a lot to learn, Danny-chan."

"Would you have accepted them, if this was Cambridge?"

"No, but only because I was in love with Georgie. Frederick would have jumped on it." He frowned. "Somewhat literally."

* * *

Georgie was woken not by the tender caresses of her absent husband, but by a much smaller but brutal force tugging on her kimono. "What is it?" Her maternal instincts kicked in and she was instantly awake.

"I don't want to sleep in my room," Alison announced, and Georgie rolled over so she could put her head on her mother's stomach. "I want to sleep with you and Papa."

"Papa is away." Which meant, of course, that she was lonelier than usual. How had she ever slept without him? "You can stay here tonight, but you have to learn to sleep on your own. Most children your age do."

"Not in Japan!"

"True. But when we get back to England, you'll have your own room again." But for this moment, it didn't seem so bad.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Did you get hurt?"

She could barely see the bandage in the dim light, but that it was made of shiny silk helped. "It's just a scratch."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Your mama is much tougher than that."

"The shopkeeper says you're the toughest lady they know."

It wasn't worth it to ask which shopkeeper. There were dozens of them and even Georgiana didn't know their names. "Thank you."

"They said they thought you were a man."

Georgie laughed. "Darling, you shouldn't be a gossip and repeat what other people said. It might sound mean."

"But you are tough!"

"I know, but – " She put her hand on her forehead. "Promise me you won't, from now on. Good girls aren't gossips."

She thought she'd heard the last of it, but Alison broke the silence. "Were you a gossip, Mama?"

"Of course I was, but I wasn't a good little girl, like you are. And good little girls _go to sleep_."

Alison shifted and tugged on the blanket. Georgie felt a pang of guilt. "I love you," she said, and kissed her on the head.

"I love you, too," her daughter said. "I hope Papa gets home soon."

"I hope he doesn't do anything too stupid while he is gone."

* * *

"You did what?"

"Exactly as I said," Geoffrey said to the magistrate as they awaited their audience with the daimyo.

"How could you reject his offer?"

"Easy. Forgive me, but we take our marriage vows a bit more seriously in England than they do here!" He was annoyed with the topic; he certainly never wanted it to slip to Georgiana, despite how it had gone.

Fortunately the conversation was cut short as the door slid open, and the servant beckoned them in. Danny stayed in the back while the magistrate and Geoffrey sat and bowed before the daimyo.

"I assume you have considered the plan."

"Hai, my lord," the magistrate said. "And I would prefer very much for an official surveyor be sent from Edo, to do the absolute best job."

This was not an unexpected move from the look on the daimyo's face, and he grumbled, "Very well. We will split the expense."

"There is, my lord, an additional consideration," Geoffrey said. "You mentioned that one of the areas was beside the graveyard?"

"Yes, it has lain fallow for as long as I can remember. Surely it is worthy soil now."

"I am also to understand that the shrine at Imbe has some significance, in its collection of prayer beads."

The daimyo looked to the magistrate, who nodded, "This is true. Though it is not a major attraction for pilgrims as of yet. Even if it was, the shrine is not large enough."

"It would have to be expanded," Geoffrey said, "and not into the graveyard, obviously. However, last night I remembered an old story my father once told me, of land that was being broken anew for increased production on my father's lands. When they drove the plow through the dirt, they found several skeletons in the remains of coffins. Centuries before, it must have been a proper graveyard, but over time, flooding in that area caused the stones to be lost. Considering how old the shrine is, and how many beads of holy men it contains, I must at least suggest that we also check the land not only for suitability for harvesting rice, but also for the bones of holy men. After all, what if we disturb the graves?"

"We would have to perform an exorcism," the magistrate concluded. "Several, perhaps."

The daimyo looked to Geoffrey. "What does this mean?"

"Perhaps we should also, given the location that is to be scouted, request a priest to perform an exorcism of the land before it is surveyed. Or – two priests, Buddhist and Shinto, just to be sure. A haunted hill will be no good to anyone, my lord. The peasants will refuse to work there and the priest will back them."

"But it would hold up the survey for months! We cannot – " But the daimyo just sighed. "I suppose it is necessary. But with the land exorcised, it can be leveled for irrigation!"

"If the surveyor says so, surely it can, and everyone will benefit from the increased production," Geoffrey said. "You are a wise and considerate lord."

The daimyo would not listen any more to this man, and dismissed them as politely as was necessary to get them to leave. The magistrate held back how ecstatic he was until they left the castle. "Amazing!"

"Is that true?" Danny said. "About your father and the graveyard?"

"Of course it's not," Geoffrey said. "The real story is that a man joins the church and leaves his wife to live off their land, and she disappears. Five years later, the land is plowed and her body is uncovered. They think it's the monk who killed his wife, but it's really the wife of the man who wanted to buy the land." He added, "I read it in a mystery novel."

...Next Chapter - Man of Stone

* * *

Notes on this chapter:

I cheated a little bit. "The Potter's Field" is the name of a mystery novel by Ellis Peters, part of her Cadfael mystery series. It was published in 1990 and has relatively the same plot Geoffrey described.


	36. Man of Stone

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 36 – Man of Stone

Geoffrey and Danny's homecoming was welcomed with enthusiastic cheers from Alison Darcy.

"How's my little girl?" Geoffrey said as he picked her up. "Not so little anymore, are you?" He kissed his wife. "Georgie."

"Geoffrey. Danny. Welcome home." She watched the magistrate retreat to his own side of the complex. "How did it go?"

"The daimyo wants to raise taxes, but I managed to put it off a bit with a technicality."

"I think he's come too much to rely on you," Danny said. "Though it does mean we're forever in his good graces."

"I did find out he's taxing the merchants and not reporting it to the daimyo, but I don't want to make any enemies with him," Geoffrey said. "How are you?"

"A little lonely, but I'm getting over it." She also wondered how fast her cut would heal. It was hidden beneath her heavy kimono as it was. "Mugen wants to see you."

"What'd he do?"

"He says it's not about that."

"The fact that I don't know what 'that' is referring to is a bad enough sign," he said, setting Alison down against her own protests.

* * *

He found Mugen in his room, sitting very contemplatively until he saw him enter. "Oi. Jeffrey-san." He stood and beckoned Geoffrey to sit on the cushion. "Thank you. How is the daimyo?"

"Corrupt, but so is the magistrate. What else is new?"

"Always the same." Mugen sat back down. "I need money."

They were already housing him, feeding him, and picking up his tabs. "How deep are you in?"

"The gambling you know about. Besides, I win."

"Because you cheat."

Mugen shrugged.

"And then you spend it on whores."

"A man has to keep busy," he said. "I need a thousand ryo, and I can't pay you back. Not without robbing a lot of people, and that won't be good for you, okappiki."

"A_ thousand _ryo_?_ For what?"

"I need to buy a sword."

Geoffrey was not laughing anymore. "There are plenty around. Sanjuro will give you his, will he not? And we have those from Tanaka's gang and the ones from the caravan."

"I need _this_ sword, to kill Kogi."

"I thought you didn't believe in magic swords and all that crap."

Mugen, for once, was perfectly serious about something other than Georgiana. "It's from China. I had to order it months ago. He won't be expecting it."

Geoffrey frowned. Mugen, of course, could have gone to Georgie and gotten the money easily, but he had taken the hard route to avoid telling her the truth. And he made Georgie happy. How could he be refused anything? "I have to dig it up. When do you need it?"

"By next week. Maybe a few days before, so I can make it there on time, to meet the merchant."

"I can do it, just not today." He buried his money as he'd been instructed to by Brian, so the magistrate couldn't steal it from him. He didn't want to dig in the daylight. "Tomorrow."

He bowed. Mugen actually bowed to him. "Thank you, Jeffrey-san."

Geoffrey smiled uneasily. "Whatever I can do."

* * *

"Now," Mugen said, raising the wooden sword. "Defend! Correctly now!"

Georgie set back in her stance. She had to imagine it with her eyes open, unlike during meditation, when she could fully concentrate. She had learned that lesson already. She wasn't ready when he swung for her. She had to block normally. It would be perfectly acceptable to another sensei, but he was not teaching her normal sword fighting techniques.

"Wrong!" he shouted, and swung again. He was relentless. She didn't want to tell him to slow down, so maybe she could focus, because he wanted her to do it this fast, or he wouldn't be hitting her so hard and so fast. "Still wrong!"

She was blocking him. She lowered her sword and got him in a lock, running across the room and taking him with her. "I need time."

"You need to concentrate."

"I need time to do that!"

"This is a fight! You don't have it!"

He pulled back and struck her in the chest. If it was a real sword, it would have cut her open. Either way, it hurt. She stepped back. "I yield."

"No! No yielding, Jorgi-san."

Out of instinct, she swung, and he blocked easily and struck her back, hitting her in the head. She toppled right over, and would have hit the wooden floor if he hadn't caught her and helped her up. His expression was concerned, but he didn't have to explain why he was being so hard on her. She got back to her feet and raised her sword. He gave her the time to get her bearings again. The throbbing in her head made it hard to focus, and she wouldn't have the strength for another hard block, nor was she sure she could duck out of the way in time. She couldn't use her skills. He swung and she just absorbed it, because she wasn't ready. She let it hit her hands. It was a bad idea, because she dropped her sword, and he kept advancing. She picked up the sword and retreated.

"No retreat!"

"Hit me," she said. There could be nothing worse than continuing this fight. If that was fate, so be it, but he would hit her, and she would let it pass. That was her decision, and when he came at her, she let it come. No, she wouldn't let it hit her. She might be hurt. She couldn't let that happen. She pushed it off to the side instead. She hadn't even realized she hadn't moved until it was done, and she was in the same position, and Mugen was knocked to the side.

"Sa!" he said. "I yield."

She didn't understand.

"Jorgi."

She dropped to her knees.

"You did it."

* * *

Geoffrey was not eager to celebrate. He did not attempt to hide his concern as she returned from the bath, her robe wrapped tight around her. The side of her face was swollen and already turning black-and-blue. She grunted as she sat down on the mattress.

"Let me see," he said, as she changed into her bed robe. She had more bruising on her stomach, just below her chest, and she flinched when he held her hands because they were so stiff. "I'm calling for the doctor."

"No!" She retracted from him. "No, it's just bruising."

"He might give you something for pain."

"I can take it."

"Georgie, you don't have to suffer. More to the point, I won't let you." He stood up and opened the door, only to find Mugen standing on the other side, holding a tray with steaming tea and a small wooden box. He bowed. "Mugen." He let him enter.

"Jorgi-chan," Mugen said, kneeling next to her. "Drink this. You'll hate it."

She took the tea and swallowed, trying not to spit it back up immediately. "Thanks for the warning."

He opened the box to reveal tiny disks of metal. "Magnets. I don't know how to do acupuncture, so this can be just as good. Lie down."

She did so, and he went about carefully setting the magnets over her bruised areas with a bit of paste. "Don't move." She could recall the chart of ki lines he made her draw over and over, but not how they matched where he was placing the magnets. "There." He neatly picked up his things. "You did very well today."

"Should we call Dr. Ogata?" Geoffrey asked.

"He wouldn't do anything else," Mugen said. He bowed and left, taking his things with him, but leaving the magnets stuck to her face and stomach.

"How do you feel?"

"I have the most disgusting taste in my mouth and I'm covered in glue and metal balls, but otherwise, the same. What do I have to complain about?"

He sat down beside her. "At least you haven't lost your sense of humor." He stroked her chin, which wasn't bruised. "I can't watch you do this."

"Then you have no esteem of your own abilities."

Geoffrey kissed her cheek before slipping under the covers with her.

* * *

As Georgie healed and her training was restricted to meditation, Mugen abruptly announced he was going on a journey to meet a merchant, and would be back in a week.

"You can have him come here, if you like," Georgie said, eager for him not to go.

"No, I must meet him there. He has already traveled a long way. I will be back soon."

She slid her sword forward. "You can have the sword back, if you need one so badly."

"Oi, you know it's not like that." He gave her a parting smile and left.

"Does he have enough money?" she wondered as they watched him disappear down the road.

"As long as he doesn't spend it all on sake before he gets there," Geoffrey said, and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.

She was notably restless in her sensei's absence, but they found ways to pass the time. Spring had come to the Bizen province, and the shops were open and the streets crowded. Hachiro was very busy preparing to open his shop, but he kept to their agreement and made time for Danny. Georgie watched, but did not step in.

"How is he?" she asked Hachiro in private, referring to her cousin.

"He is a dedicated student and a fast learner, but like me, he lacks the ruthlessness required to take a life. Fortunately, we are not at war."

"You also renounced your status."

"There were many things involved in that decision. Poverty, boredom, and the entire culture of loyalty and death. The only reason I could see myself being asked to commit hara-kiri would be over an administrative error. And yet, I didn't want to do it for the real reason, either. Life always appealed to me, more than death."

She could not say the same. She knew she was ruthless, and she knew at least part of her was a killer. "Have you spoken to Danny about this?"

"He will have the moment to decide whether he wants to play samurai and become a killer, or whether it's not his path. Whichever it is, I hope he chooses wisely. He's so intelligent."

"As is his father." She smiled. "This is all, I think, somehow about him going blind. Like he has to prove himself before he does it."

"With all due respect, Jorgi-san, who here is not trying to prove themselves in some way?"

She nodded. "Thank you for your time, Hachiro-san. Will you bring your wife for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I would love to, but I cannot drink the night away. It is a busy time for us."

"We understand. We would love to have you anyway."

He bowed and left, leaving her to her own thoughts as she sat in the empty dojo, ticking off the prayer beads in her hands.

* * *

Several days' journey north, Mugen sat in the private room of the teahouse, one hand playing with his beaded bracelet as the merchant entered. "I am sorry it took so long, but it is so hard to get things from the mainland."

Mugen responded by raising his dish to him.

The merchant opened his case, and began to unroll the item wrapped in silk. It fell away to reveal a Chinese sword with a traditional brass hilt. "It is a very ancient blade, forged at the great monastery of – "

"You don't have to make up a history," Mugen said, grabbing the handle and swinging so close that the merchant doubled-back. Mugen wouldn't have hit him anyway, but it would have been close. He stood, and pressed down with his heel on the middle of the blade, to see how it bent. Only Chinese swords were like that. From the lack of wear, it could not be more than twenty years old, but it was still a fine weapon. "It's not a master blade." He ran his thumb around it entirely. These swords were double-sided, and he drew blood on both edges.

"It is very high quality! The best I could get in six months."

He wasn't interested in conversing further with this man. He removed the box in front of him, revealing the piles of coin, stacked up neatly on a piece of paper, which he slid over to the merchant. "One thousand ryo." While the merchant salivated, Mugen put the blade in its scabbard, and wound his own cloth around the very distinctive hilt and tied it. He did not give him time to haggle over the price. "Our business is concluded." He stood, bowed to the merchant, and left, dropping some coins on the bar for the tab.

It was not his last stop. This was a much larger town than anything in the area of Imbe, and it had a shrine of appropriate size, part Shinto and part Buddhist. He ascended the steps and walked under the red gates, passing villagers and pilgrims who were praying or tying their prayers to the tree outside the building.

The priest he approached was Shinto. "I want to pay tribute to my ancestors."

"An offering can be arranged. Where are you from?"

"I was born on the Ryūkyū Islands. I don't know which one. I didn't know my mother or my father, but one of them was an islander and the other Japanese," he said. "I don't have time for a pilgrimage. In fact, I don't know where their graves are and I wouldn't go back there if I did."

The priest must have been used to odd stories. "What is the occasion for this tribute?"

"I'm about to join them, and I'd rather get on their good side now."

With the last of his travel money, he paid for the most extravagant ceremony he could afford. He didn't understand the liturgy, or even feel comfortable bowing his head and raising his arms in prayer as if he was devout. He watched the priest light the incense, and wave his flag back and forth over them to help the smoke drift up.

"Do you know the names of your parents?"

"No."

"What is your name?"

It seemed so strange for him to say it. "Gen."

He watched the smoke rise. How was this different from any other fire, or the incense they put out to ward off bad smells? What meaning did it have now, after so many years of avoiding any hint of it?

"It weighs heavy on your heart," said the Buddhist priest, also working in the temple. "I can see it in you. Take refuge – "

" – in the three jewels: The Buddha, the Dharma, and the Shangha, until I attain Enlightenment. Yes, I know. I have never taken refuge, and there is no time now."

"There is always time."

He didn't know why he was saying this so openly, to a man he didn't even know from a religion he wasn't part of. "I've never hid behind the gods for anything in my life. Is it wrong to ask for their compassion in getting to the next one?"

"It is very important to you."

"Not for me. For someone else. I have to reincarnate for someone else." He sighed. His heart was heavy, almost literally. "Will I have to choose between heaven in Nirai Kanai, and returning to the earth, or can it be both, like everything else in this country? Two priests for one temple. It doesn't make sense, but it seems fair."

The priest smiled at him. "If you have strength, the path will appear before you to guide you, but you must open yourself to the possibility. You have hardened yourself. Man is not made of stone. Man is ever-changing, and stone is not."

Hmang Shin, the failed student of Master Hyuu, was made of stone. They made a statue of him and put it in the monastery. He was so confused. He shook his head.

The Shinto priest returned from his ritual duties, until the incense burned down and the next prayers would begin. "You need not be alone, Gen-san. You have appealed to your ancestors. You have all those who have come before you, and as long as any living thing draws breath, there are gods to help you."

"You make it sound so simple!" he shouted. He hadn't meant to be mean. "Gomen nasai. I don't know what I'm saying."

"You have time to decide."

"I don't."

"You have a little. That is enough. There is always enough time for something like this."

The Shinto priest returned to the ritual Mugen had paid for, and Mugen watched, waiting for something. He looked to the Buddhist priest, who had returned to his own prayers, ticking off his prayer beads as he went. He had a long set of beads, like Master Hyuu.

Mugen put his hands together. "I take refuge in Kwan Yin, goddess of compassion, until I attain enlightenment." His next words came out as stifled sobs. "_Please help me_."

The Buddhist priest must have noticed him crying. "Gen-san, it is normal to fear death."

"I don't fear death," he said. "I've never feared death. I fear for the people I'm leaving behind."

"Child," the old priest said, "that is the _reason_ compassionate people fear death."

"I am not a compassionate person."

"I would disagree with you."

Mugen wiped his eyes. "I've been called many things in my life, but never that."

The priest repeated, "There is always time for things like this."

* * *

"Mugen-san! Mugen-san!"

Alison Darcy was the first to reach him as he approached their side of the magistrate's house. She bounded out the door and down the steps still barefoot and clamped herself around one of his legs.

"Oi, what's this? Little brat!" But he didn't succeed his shaking her from him with just his foot.

"Alison, you're getting your feet dirty. What would Papa say?" Georgie said, emerging from the house. "And stop assaulting Mugen-sensei."

"Sa, I can handle her," he said, looking down at the attached child, and back up at the parent. Georgie's wounds, which he had inflicted, were healing, but she still looked a bit like a battered wife on one side of her face. He lifted Alison up. "Bad child! Go wash!" Then he set her down, and she went running, not out of fear but of excitement. "She's a good kid."

"If she's anything like me, we won't be able to keep a single maid. Did I tell you how I made my last governess quit?"

He chuckled. "That was a good one." He was relieved; she didn't seem affected by her wounds at all. "You look good."

"Mention that around Geoffrey and he'll have words with you."

"He can't still be mad at me! Doesn't he have anything better to do?"

"He makes it a priority to worry about his wife."

"That's one of the reasons I never had a wife. Also, there were some others. They're not cheap, I hear." They began walking slowly back towards the house. "You did very well, the last time we fought. You have to be careful now, or you might kill someone. And that someone might be me."

"Sensei – "

"You're a fast learner. Very fast. I almost don't know what to do with you." He was fairly sure he didn't hit her in that shoulder, so he put his arm around her. "Sometimes I think you learn too fast."

"Sometimes I think that, too."

...Next Chapter - Notes from Home


	37. Notes from Home

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 37 - Notes from Home

Two weeks later, the long-awaited Christmas letters arrived in a large bundle. Their condition could be described as "decimated." Geoffrey, who had far more spare time than Georgie and received the package himself, quickly surmised that not only were words and paragraphs blotted or torn out, but entire pages were missing. The saving grace was a note from Nadezhda in Japanese, which Georgie read to him upon returning from sparring with Mugen.

_Dear Geoffrey, Georgiana, and Danny (and Alison),_

_The new customs official in charge of inspecting your mail seems to be particularly concerned with political matters, and also interprets anyone having a title in front of their name to be an important figure in English politics, so there will be missing text. Before you become alarmed, when Frederick is discussing someone who is very ill, he is discussing his natural father, not Brian's brother. No one else is ill._

_Princess Nadezhda Maddox_

Geoffrey turned to the letters from Frederick Maddox, which seemed to have more blackened words than normal ones. His father was a Sir, his mother Lady, and the other person no less than a king. Fortunately he only mentioned his wife as "Heather" or her name likely would have been gone, too.

"Is there a letter from Heather?"

He handed her one. She read it quickly. "She is expecting!"

"Wonderful. When is she due?"

"She says – by Easter." She frowned. "She's gone and had the baby by now, or not. I think." They weren't entirely sure when Easter was, but it was certainly soon.

"There'll be others," he assured her. "Frederick Maddox, a father. Where's Danny?" He rose, and opened the door to the main room. "Danny?"

"I believe he's outside."

Geoffrey padded over to the other door and opened it to Danny Maddox, practicing one of the sword forms. "Danny, you're an uncle! Possibly!"

Danny Maddox replaced his blade. "What?"

"We've a letter from Lady Heather, when she was expecting, and that was months ago."

He removed his long sword as he entered their room. "May I see?"

"Ignore the holes," Georgie said as she handed him Heather's letter. "If she delivered, you're an uncle."

"Fred, a father?" He shook his head.

The Darcys shared a laugh, and continued going through the pile. Many of the letters were mixed up, and they relied on handwriting to put them back together.

_Dear Georgiana,_

_It seems unwise of me to have chosen to do black out in the hole, for every time I go to the office, I have only another reminder of you, and my nephew, and of course my granddaughter. Oh, why did I let you go? Darcy said I was a fool, but he has said that all his life, so I stopped listening to him._

_We were delighted to hear from you, especially the letter from Edo, a city I have never seen. I am truly amazed that you had an audience with blacked out words and blacked out. It reminds me of my time in India. Perhaps some day when you are all settled (not too soon!) I will take Jane, but at the moment, she hardly needs to be reminded of foreign travel._

_With all of our hearts, we send our love._

_Charles Bingley II_

Many of the letters were repetitive, of course, and some of them were even multiple ones from the same person, collected over time. Darcy admonished his son several times to be careful. Geoffrey's mother made a comment on this.

_You must believe me when I say that even the servants feel your absence. It is as if Pemberley has lost its favorite son. When I told your father, he scoffed at this, but I suspect he is not quite willing to give up the position of 'Pemberley's favorite son,' having carried that mantle for so many years. _

_Elizabeth Darcy_

What had been distant for so long became very real to them again. They had left that world behind, if only for a short while, but it did not seem that way sitting on the floor of their wooden bedroom, barefoot and wearing silk robes. They could not have imagined a year ago, themselves in this position.

"There are so many letters from Eliza," Georgie said. They were all to her, so she sat aside to read them as Geoffrey called for lunch.

"What's this?" Mugen said, announcing his interest. "Where have all my little gaijin gone?"

"I'm taller than you," Geoffrey reminded him as they moved into the sitting room, taking the letters with them. Only Georgie remained behind.

"Easier for me to get the jump on you, then," Mugen said, and began shoveling down his lunch. The others ate more slowly, half-eating and half-reading, and passing words to each other. So-and-so visited so-and-so, there were balls and of course Christmas, but not much out of the ordinary was happening at home, to their relief. No one had died, or married, and the only one expecting a child was Lady Heather Maddox.

"Charles has gone back to the Continent," Geoffrey announced, reading his Aunt Bingley's letter. "He doesn't care for London."

"If that's the only news, I'll be glad."

"There might be some news from Ireland, but I have no idea," he replied, holding up Grégoire's letter, which was nothing more than a few scratches between punched-out holes in the text. "Clearly my uncle talked in his usual manner, which meant he mentioned G-d every other line. There's not a significant word in here."

"I'm sure Uncle Darcy would say something."

"I'm sure he would," he said, and sighed. "I'll have to write him. 'Dear Uncle, Thank you for the letter, but none of it made it through. Try not to mention religion. Yours in Buddha, Geoffrey.'"

"He might have an apoplexy if you write that."

They laughed, at least until Georgie opened the door between them, clutching the letters to her chest, and Geoffrey saw her face. He leapt to his feet. "What is it?"

"It's all right," she told Danny, and Geoffrey followed her into their room, sliding the door closed behind him. "It's Charles."

"He's gone to the Continent."

"I know."

"Is he ill?"

"I don't know. Just read."

The letters were not long, but there were several. Tossing aside the ordinary parts of the correspondence, Elizabeth Bingley launched into a myriad of undefinable concerns about her twin brother, beginning while he was still in England.

_...He has holed himself up in London. I am sure he will be here at Christmas, but for everything else he makes excuses. Papa assures me he is just being a bachelor, but my friends in Town have not seen him so often at all of the balls, and Frederick says he's not seem him at the unseemly parts of London – and yes, I did apply to Frederick Maddox for an answer to such an indecorous question, and he replied to the fullest extent possible, but said as a married man, he is not such a frequenter of certain sections that I would not even want to know about. _

_I suspect Mama and Papa's concerns about your safety, which they have no control over, are eclipsing his behavior, but I don't wish to invade in his privacy..._

_... He has confirmed to me, on my recent visit to Town, that he is not gambling away his allowance. I threatened to ask Papa before Charles admitted to me that he was not wildly spending money on gambling or any other disgraceful behavior, though I do find the amount of alcohol he drinks disgraceful. He is not a glutton – in fact, he has grown very thin. He says he is not sick, but will not see a doctor..._

_... Perhaps you can ask Geoffrey if he remembers the death of his friend Guy. He was very distraught over it, he wrote to me, because he tried to visit the grave to pay tribute with some other friends from Cambridge and was turned away by the family, even though it has been years. He won't speak of it directly to me, only in letter form. You know how sensitive our brother is..._

"Do you remember Guy, from my birthday party at Cambridge? His theater friend?" Geoffrey said, and she nodded. "He was Charles' year, and he died shortly after graduating. I believe it was a hunting accident on his family's estate. Charles was beginning his travels abroad, and he wrote to me to send on his condolences. He's not mentioned it since."

There was more.

_...I finally convinced Charles to see a doctor, on the basis that if our parents saw him as he was at Christmas, they would question his health and send him right to someone anyway. He did go, and passed inspection, though the doctor told him to drink less heavy liquor and more wine instead. I told him to try to gain weight before Christmas, and he smiled so sadly at me..._

_...Charles did look very well at Christmas, and was all smiles except when you were mentioned, and read and re-read the letters you sent to him in regards to his goddaughter. My parents are convinced nothing is the matter, except perhaps he is a bit lonely, and they have been urging him to consider being more serious about marriage. He answers them politely, and says yes, but I know he is refusing..._

_...Our brother leaves for Paris tomorrow. From there he intends to go to the Roman coast. He informed me not half an hour ago, and intends to tell our parents in the morning, just before he leaves. I told him outright that he was being cruel. Forgive me, Georgie, that I said it was in your name. You have the strength to be hard on him, and I do not. He persisted; Mama and Papa want him to be happy, and that was where he was happy, so what right did anyone have to stop him? He said – and this was in private, so do not repeat it – that his life was meaningless until Papa died, as his only job was to inherit Kirkland, and he couldn't bring himself to wish Papa dead. 'A gentleman's life is not for me,' he said. He would not listen to any reason, but he was very compassionate when I started to cry, and held me until I stopped. I will miss him..._

_...Charles is in Italy now. He has purchased a villa on the coast. From what I have heard our parents discussing, it was by no means an extravagant purchase, and they were trying to console themselves that it is a very trendy place for young people to wile away their time in bachelorhood, and that his spending was always reasonable and he was never seen in an improper situation. I suspect they were trying to talk themselves out of their concern. Edmund is unreachable; he is obsessed with investments, as he has always been obsessed with anything he put his mind to. I am at a loss. I beg of you to visit him in Italy, if he is still there upon your return to the West._

_Your Loving Sister,_

_Elizabeth Bingley_

"Of course we will," Geoffrey said to her unasked question. "This is _Charles_. I am tempted to repeat all of the reassurances of your parents. He's not ill, he doesn't have a gambling problem, he's not a glutton – "

"He is very sad," she said. "He must be."

"He will recover from whatever this melancholia is, probably by finding a wife," Geoffrey said. "And if not, we'll go to Italy and you'll beat some sense into him. If living with you has taught me anything, the most sensible option is often violence."

At this, she smiled, which was a great relief to Geoffrey, who did not feel so happy himself.

* * *

"Now." Mugen raised the Chinese sword. "Hit me!"

What had become a daily spectacle began in earnest. Georgiana had only her wooden sword, but she was aiming for him, not his sword, and as long as she hit it where it was flat, it did not hurt her own. His sword bended in a most unnatural way, and flowed like it was a part of him – an extension of his arms, making it all the more difficult to attack him. Still, with increasing discipline, Georgie found a way. The sound of their blades hitting each other could be heard from across the road, and Danny was put in charge of keeping away spectators trying to look over the wall, though Geoffrey told him not to be too hard on the village children who managed to climb up there, just to make sure they didn't fall down and hurt themselves.

Geoffrey sat with Sanjuro and watched. He appreciated that Georgie didn't fall so often, but when she did, it was hard.

"He's not holding back as much as he used to," Sanjuro said. His health had improved with the weather, enough for him to make his way out to the porch on his own, but no further. "At this rate, your wife is going to be his equal very soon."

"I suppose I should take that as a compliment," he replied. "How did you know he was holding back? Or is it just obvious?"

"Nothing about Mugen-san is obvious. It's perspective. He didn't move before like he does now. I don't understand how she keeps up." He turned to Geoffrey. "Is it true he believes Jorgi-san is a reincarnation of his sensei?"

"I don't know what he really believes," he said.

"But you don't believe it."

"My religion does not have that kind of scope. Besides, it is easier for me to take comfort in disbelief."

"Why is that?"

"Because she's also my wife."

Sanjuro laughed. "I wouldn't want to be married to an ancient master, either!" He coughed, but managed to control it before it became serious.

Kiso appeared and bowed. "O-samurai-sama." He held out a tray of medicinal tea, and Sanjuro accepted.

"I don't know why you let me freeload," Sanjuro said. "I'm of no use to you."

Geoffrey watched Mugen take a hit. It was the third time today. It wasn't serious enough to take him down or even slow him down, but she'd breached his defenses. "It's the Christian thing to do."

"What?"

"Sa, I made a mistake. Forgive me. It's the _moral_ thing to do."

"Moral must mean rich, the way you throw money at poor people," Sanjuro said, with not even a hint of distain. Then, from nowhere, he said, "The magistrate's going to come after you."

"What?"

"If he gets a chance. It'll be him or the daimyo. The only reason he hasn't done it so far is because you've made yourself invaluable to him. So the magistrate's decided you're more useful alive than dead, or maybe he just thinks there's a way to get the drop on you, and take your money without you noticing."

"He does take my money. We're paying for our stay."

Sanjuro lowered his voice. "You know what I mean."

They still had a tremendous amount of money from seizing Tanaka's treasury. Geoffrey saved it for hard times by burying it separately from his own money (also considerable), and was planning to buy more rice in the fall. If he just released it to everyone in coin, there would simply be inflation, and he hadn't yet worked out a way to keep prices down. "What makes you say this now?"

"I know his type. And I know what daimyo are like. The daimyo pushed you hard for that land survey, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"He probably wanted a bribe, and the magistrate hoped you would suggest it. Cash now is better than the possibility of taxes later. Some years there's nothing to tax, when there's a real famine. Now the magistrate stands between you and the daimyo, and that's an awkward position for him. Sooner or later, their own greed will get to them. Look!"

Mugen had finally yielded, and stepped back to prevent falling down. Georgie had swung for the chest, but when Mugen blocked, she raised her sword up and hit him in the face. Despite her rush to check him, he did not appear to be seriously wounded.

"Mama!" Alison cheered, and Danny clapped his hands.

Geoffrey joined. "How do you know so much about daimyo and magistrates? I thought you were from Edo."

"So? There are plenty of daimyo in Edo and plenty of my fellow students in the dojos who became magistrates. Me, I volunteered for the fire guard. What a stupid move that was, but I wasn't devious enough to become a politician and I knew it. Whores are very happy to be carried out of burning buildings, by the way."

Geoffrey had no comment to that.

"And the doctors say maybe it was that, or the conditions I worked in. Who knows?"

"I appreciate your advice," Geoffrey said. "And if you can keep your ears open ..."

"It's the least I can do. Not that the magistrate trusts me, but we'll see." He chuckled again. "Now he's having his revenge."

He was referring to Mugen, who didn't strike Georgie, at least not in any way their eyes could follow, but somehow managed to flip her so she landed on her back. He held her down with one foot on her stomach until she yielded.

"If I didn't know him better, I suppose I would stop him," Geoffrey said. "Maybe I know him _too_ well."

* * *

That night, the priest came down to visit them. Specifically he visited Sanjuro, and spoke with him a while.

"I thought he was doing better," Danny said.

"That may be the problem," Mugen said as they ate, but refused to explain his comments.

"Alison, use your chopsticks," Geoffrey said.

Alison, who had been picking food out of her bowl, pointed a dirty finger at her mother, who was using her hands to get the rice from the bowl to her mouth because her fingers were too sore for the delicate work of chopsticks.

"That's no excuse," she said. "Listen to your father. We're civilized people."

"Yes. That's why we're eating with sticks and not proper silverware," Danny said, which earned a glare from both of the Darcys, but it eventually dissolved into laughter.

"Oi, kid, I'll show you," Mugen said, and speared a rice ball with his chopstick and handed it to her. "There."

"Mugen, don't encourage her!"

"Look at her tiny little fingers. What do you want from her? Isn't that right, Ali-chan?"

"Right!" she shouted back, and began eating the rice ball off the chopstick as if it were on a skewer.

"Good enough," Georgie said, and leaned over and kissed Alison on the head. She had just enough time to bow to the priest as he entered.

"Dani-san," the priest said, "Sanjuro would like to speak with you, when you are finished."

Danny nodded and set his food aside. He picked up his long sword from the floor, bowed again to the priest, and left for Sanjuro's room.

"Sa! Here it comes," Mugen said.

"What?"

"Don't assume the worst," Geoffrey said, and returned to his meal.

* * *

When Danny Maddox entered, the incense were lit, so the room smelled quite pleasant. Sanjuro was sitting up properly, even wearing one of his swords, and gestured for Danny to sit across from him.

"Sanjuro-sensei," Danny said with a bow.

"There's no need for formalities," the samurai said, and smothered a cough. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"I would be honored."

"Don't say yes until you've heard it," he warned. "I can't commit seppuku because I didn't do something dishonorable and have no reason to redeem myself, but I don't want to die of this poison in my lungs. I want to die like a samurai – in battle." He sighed, and it was ragged from his unnatural breathing. "Mugen is not samurai, and neither is Hachiro. And I know it would be a valuable experience for you, if this is a path you truly want to take."

He set his long sword down between them.

Danny was horrified. "It wouldn't be a fair fight."

Sanjuro smiled. "That's okay. I don't want to win. I don't even want to survive."

Danny said nothing, but lowered his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to face Sanjuro. "I don't think I can do this."

"A samurai understands sacrifice and invites death. He values loyalty and honor. It would be an honor for me to die in this way, and not in a sick bed."

Danny shook his head. "I can't – it's not like killing someone on the battlefield. Which I couldn't even bring myself to do ..." He finally looked at his semi-mentor. "I don't think I could live with myself." He mumbled, "Would you think less of me if I refused?"

"No." He smiled. "I suspected you would. But no matter what Hachiro says about this era of peace, being a samurai is at least in principle more than carrying swords and knowing how to fight in a dojo."

"I understand that."

"Why did you want to become a samurai, Dani? You've come so far and now you've achieved your goal, but you're not at all like Jorgi-san, who takes so naturally to violence."

"I ... wanted to be someone. Someone who protects people. Someone people can turn to when they're in trouble. Someone who is respected ... and not looked down on."

"Because they are going blind."

He nodded despite himself.

"Hopelessness cannot drive you to be a killer. That will not make you the person you've described. And I familiar with hopelessness." Sanjuro said it between coughs. "When I was raised, they taught me to have no hesitation before acting, but they spent years teaching me that." He smiled. "Your time will come." He added, "I think it will be soon enough."

...Next Chapter - Shamisen


	38. Shamisen

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 38 - Shamisen

Geoffrey was accustomed to falling asleep alone, and waking with his wife beside him in the morning. They had come so far, and she had come so far in her training that he knew it would be ridiculous to ask for more attention when her time was limited. He could hardly ask anything of her when she woke late, and remained exhausted for most of the morning. He rolled over with a grumble and went to sleep.

He would have remained so if not for someone prodding him on the shoulder. He rolled onto his back. "Wha – what is it?"

Mugen was carrying Georgie in his arms. "She'll be fine," he said in response to Geoffrey's instinctual alarm. She wasn't actually unconscious, but so unsteady on her feet that she couldn't stay standing when he set her down, and Mugen guided her into a sitting position, where Geoffrey could catch her from falling over. She was shaking, and her skin was cold.

"Georgie?"

"I'm cold."

It wasn't cold in the room, but he positioned the blanket around her anyway, pulling it tight. Mugen lit the room lamp and left out the other door, to the courtyard. He left it open, so he would probably be back.

"What did he do to you? Georgie?"

She had tears on her cheeks, but was not actively crying. "I – can't describe it. Is it swollen?"

"Is what?"

She pulled down her kimono to the spot where her collarbones met, which had a black spot there.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," she said. "Hold me."

He gladly complied. It was the only thing he felt glad about. "What did he do to you?"

"He had to do it. Don't be mad." She whispered, "It felt like dying."

He pulled her tighter. It was a cruel way to teach her Dim Mak, but perhaps it was the only way. "You're not dead. Here." He slid his hand under her kimono and over her left breast. "I can feel your heartbeat."

"You're just taking advantage of me."

"Maybe I am a little desperate," he said with a chuckle.

Mugen entered with hot tea, and some rice balls and fish. He bowed low. "Jorgi-chan, please, eat something."

He would not leave until she did. Slowly she finished both rice balls, emptied the fish platter, and washed it down. By then, she had stopped shaking, but still pulled the blanket around her as if it was winter in the room.

"I should have stopped him."

"It's the only way I'll learn it."

"Normally I feel some obligation to stop people from almost killing my wife," he said, and Georgie laughed. She was losing whatever remained of her strength, so he helped her down and curled up with her on the mattress. "Are you all right?"

"No. I don't want to go to sleep now, after that." She tugged on his kimono. "Tell me a story."

"I'm not even good at making them up for Alison!"

"I just want to hear your voice."

He sighed. "Once upon a time ... there was a beautiful princess, but a magical curse was placed on her, so that every time there was trouble, she would turn into a fierce wolf that would defeat all of her enemies."

"How is that a curse?"

"As convenient as it was, the wolf had a tendency to annoy her loyal husband, as he always feared for her safety, even when she was a wolf. Also, it was somewhat detrimental to their conjugal rites."

"Geoffrey! What kind of story is that?"

"I believe there's some truth to it.

She pushed him, though not very hard. "Are you hinting at something?"

"I wasn't being so subtle as to hint, I would say. I wouldn't grant myself that favor."

He could still make her laugh. "Well ... maybe tomorrow I won't feel as though I've returned from the brink of death."

"With such seductive verse, how could any man resist you?"

"Fortunately I've only one man whom I must entice."

He kissed her. "And you are so devilishly good at it."

She finally fell into a peaceful sleep, wrapped tight in his embrace, and he soon followed her.

* * *

Whatever their earlier intentions for the morning, they were interrupted before they could begin by an overenthusiastic daughter. "I want a shamisen!"

"Good morning to you, too," Geoffrey said.

"You are most fortunate that there was not a nursemaid to stop you," Georgie said as Alison crawled between them.

"Or a heavy set of doors."

"Shamisen!"

"You could begin by asking politely, and waiting for Mama and Papa to _consider_ it," Georgie said. "I don't believe there's one small enough for you. I don't think they make them."

"Unfortunately, I believe they do." Geoffrey put his head back down on the pillow. "There are some in the toy shop."

"How annoying is the sound they make?"

"I don't know. I was afraid to let her try it."

Fortunately Alison was easily distracted enough to be hauled to a reluctant breakfast. "I'm going to play the shamisen!" she announced.

Danny was the only other one present. "Are you now?"

"No, she is not," Geoffrey said, not looking up from his bowl.

"You want your daughter to be accomplished, do you not?" Georgie said. "Besides, you'll hardly hear it anyway if you put the earplug in. Some of us don't have that luxury."

"Sometimes it isn't a luxury."

"Well, _sometimes_ it is." She gave Danny a look. "He always gets more sleep than me."

"You're just a light sleeper," he said. "Speaking of sleepers, where is everyone?"

"Sanjuro-san hasn't risen yet, and Mugen was walking around very early. I don't think he went to town last night."

"He did not." Otherwise, he would be drunk and oversleep breakfast, then overeat at lunch to make up for it. "Can you take care of Alison today, or is Hachiro coming over?"

"He's not. But why – " He looked down. "I won't ask. I don't want to know."

Mugen did appear shortly after breakfast. "Oi. Jorgi-chan." To Geoffrey's disappointment, she snapped to attention and went after her sensei, but they only went slowly through one tai chi form in the yard. "Enough for today," he said.

"Sensei, you said when we started that you never mastered Dim Mak." Her curiosity was getting the better of her. "But last night, you did it on command."

"Hai, but I didn't kill you, did I?"

"You came close."

"It just felt that way," he said. "Besides, you are a good teacher. Now go and do – whatever gaijin do with their day." He waved her off without explaining himself.

It was Danny who solved it easily enough. "A good teacher learns from his student," he said.

"Who taught you that? Hachiro?"

"My father."

Today, their home just seemed too crowded – or at the very least, the walls too thin. It was a bright, sunny spring day, and there was always someone around. After several failed attempts to secure privacy, they packed a bag, Geoffrey shouldered his rifle, and they set out to the wilderness. Geoffrey knew all the paths around the valley, some of which were used by samurai to get clandestinely from the castle-town to Imbe's brothel.

"This is the land the daimyo wants to level?" she said. It was unspoiled wilderness, mainly because it was on such a steep incline.

"Not really. He just wants to increase taxes."

"Geoffrey Darcy, you're becoming as jaded as any other Japanese bureaucrat."

"As I've actually used my weapons, I hardly qualify as a bureaucrat."

"I can't wait to see the look on your father's face when you tell him you spent your time in the Orient as a constable."

"I must be truly homesick," he said, "for I wish to see that, too."

They finally settled some ways off the path, in the tall grass overlooking the valley where many farms lay. They could almost see the straw hats of the villagers, planting rice for the next harvest.

"It's a bit like Derbyshire."

"I'm deaf, not blind."

"But in Derbyshire, you wouldn't be walking around in a dressing gown and slippers."

He smiled. "This is true. And in Derbyshire – well, you might very well be dressed the way you are, but no one would approve of it."

"No one? You don't approve of my clothing?"

"No. There's too much of it."

They retreated beneath an old shelter between the trees, probably used either for shade or the same illicit purpose by passing townsfolk and samurai over the years. There was a certain hurried ferocity to their initial lovemaking. While their stay in Japan had hardly been without activity, the recent weeks had Georgie either up at all hours or too exhausted to move while in bed. Geoffrey didn't mind that in the daylight he could see new scars where there was once only soft skin, and bruises from previous fights that were still fading. He had to remind himself to be gentle.

When they collapsed on the blanket next to each other, there was some attempt to reposition their clothing in case they were intruded upon, but then they settled into a peaceful, satiated silence.

"It's my fault," she said, "for making you wait so long."

"I believe as an English housewife, you may willfully close your door to me, though it would hardly slam shut without breaking and I can't imagine how you would lock it."

* * *

When Danny ran out of ways to amuse his cousin, who seemed to be in an especially wired mood, he brought her back to her room. Her toys were everywhere, even in impossible places like above the lamp. "Clean up your toys."

"Cousin Danny!"

"When you're done, I'll give you a treat, but they all have to be back in the box. Now go!" He said it far less forcefully than he should have, but she listened to him anyway and he retired to the sitting room. "Mugen-san. Ogata-sensei." Dr. Ogata and Mugen were looking over the medical book. Mugen traced his forefinger along the lines of the veins, as illustrated by English anatomists. "Mugen, I didn't know you were interested in medicine."

"I'm not." He closed the book and stepped out into the courtyard. Dr. Ogata began to re-wrap it in silk.

"Is it true that you can kill someone with a touch?" Danny asked.

"Of course it's true, in a more traditional sense. If the touch is hard enough, it might break something important. The way Mugen refers to is something I've never seen, but there are many things I've never seen."

He bowed and left.

Danny removed his long sword and stepped out into the courtyard, sitting on the step beside Mugen, who was having a mid-morning drink of cold sake. "Aren't you supposed to be watching Alison?"

"She's cleaning her room."

"Oi, you make a little kid do that? I bet you had all kinds of servants doing that for you, when you were little."

Danny looked at the ground. "I did."

"You be careful, or she won't be as soft and spoiled as gaijin girls are supposed to be." He offered him a filled dish of sake, and Danny accepted.

"May I ask you a question?"

"I'm not going to stop you."

"Do you really believe Georgie is your sensei's reincarnation?"

"What does it matter what I believe? She's my student because she's good and she wants to learn. Soon I won't have anything left to teach her." He took the cup back, filled it, and knocked back another dose of rice wine. "If fate really exists, then we shouldn't spend any time worrying about it, because it will happen anyway, with or without our opinion."

"That's very profound."

"Oi, don't say that. I don't need a following."

"Wouldn't it be good for your ego?"

Mugen smiled. "If I wanted lots of friends I would make them. If I wanted students, I would have opened a dojo. I don't need brats who can't think for themselves."

"Are you implying something about Georgiana?"

"Heh." He took another drink, then passed it back to Danny, who did the same. "She wouldn't go away if I told her to. She's not mindless like that. You have to respect someone stupid enough to follow me around."

Danny looked at the sake dish. "You must not think much of me, the wannabe samurai."

"I remember your father. We didn't talk much, but Brian-chan always talked about him. It was Dani this and Dani that! He felt so irresponsible next to him. But your father did make good decisions, and Brian needed help putting his hakama on straight. How is your father?"

"Blind."

"This again. Sa, I won't argue with you about it. Your father – did he take it well?"

"Remarkably so, I'm told."

"The Maddok clan, you guys make the best out of every bad situation. And trust me, I've seen some truly stupid ones. Like the time he bought this thing for his wife. He thought it was supposed to be for their – " He cut himself off. "It wasn't supposed to go in that hole."

"What?"

"I won't corrupt your mind any further than I already do. Besides, I might have been bribed never to tell that story. I can't remember." He looked to his left, where Alison had appeared so quietly that they hadn't heard her tiny feet on the wood. "What is it, Ali-chan?"

"I want to play shamisen!"

"Why do you want to be a whore?"

"Mugen-san!" Danny shouted. "Don't teach her that word."

"What? Whore?"

"Whore! Play shamisen!" Alison giggled.

"See? She already knows it," Mugen said, and swallowed another dish of sake.

* * *

Gone was the shivering, frightened Georgiana from the night before. She proved as ravenous as he did, as if this was a secret pleasure long-forgotten and only now discovered. There was something to be said for heavy English doors, especially ones that locked, and existed hallways down from where their daughter and guests slept. Japan had unintentionally imposed a frugality to their bliss that once removed, proved how quickly it had been a barrier between them. The effect was literally orgasmic.

"Do you know what this feels like?" Georgie whispered to him.

"What?"

"Like Cambridge."

He felt himself blushing. "In my dorm?"

"No, in the apartment of George's mistress."

"That's _worse_. Though, it was rather nice, looking back on it." He kissed her on her collarbone, near the bruised spot, but far enough away. When he was spent, he retracted again into the bundle of clothing that covered them, and gave a contented sigh.

"It's more like Lancashire, right after our marriage. Only I'm not as ill and cranky."

"And I haven't had meat since Christmas."

"Are you on about that again?"

He grinned and she kissed him, straddling him. "Maybe," he said. "Truly I have few other complaints. Other than that we are housing a criminal who is not only driving my wife insane but hurting her as well, and no one of authority likes us no matter how useful we are, or perhaps even because of it, and our daughter wants to do all the other things that Japanese associate with their courtesans."

"In that lovingly innocent way of hers."

"Yes."

"'Respectable ladies do not play the shamisen.' Will you introduce that to the Ton?"

"I have nothing to say to the Ton in any regard I can thank of. But there are certainly better instruments. Pianoforte – "

"I will be a complete hypocrite if I subject my daughter to the horror that is pianoforte."

He laughed. "Some women like it very much. Also, it's a way to avoid talking to the same people you just spent hours eating dinner with."

"That's its only value, as far as I can discern."

Their final congress was slower than the previous ones, partially out of exhaustion and partially for the unspoken but shared desire to savor it. They supported each other, they were companions, they were parents, but they married because they were lovers, and there seemed only rare moments when it was just about physical pleasure and nothing else. "I love you," Geoffrey said as he crested.

"I know."

Georgie wiped the sweat from his brow for him. They laid there in silence until the afternoon chill came down from the mountains and swept its way across the valley, and with great reluctance, they dressed themselves and had a little of the food from the ignored package before setting off on the trail again.

They were about to pass a carved stone they had seen on the way when they noticed someone else on the path. "It's one of the daimyo's samurai," Geoffrey said, though this one did not seem particularly dangerous, not in his current state. It was the priest samurai, his head covered in white cloth, saying prayers before the image carved into the face of the rock. They waited until he stepped away from it to come closer.

"Okappiki-san," he said with a polite bow.

"Samurai-sama," Geoffrey bowed. "This is my wife, Jorgi-san."

"You are the one who defeated many of the lord's proud samurai."

"Hai, Samurai-sama," she said with a bow.

"Loyalty and devotion in the service of their lord are of utmost importance to a samurai," he said. "Pride is not."

"I suppose I'm not allowed to say this, but we consider pride to be a sin, too," Geoffrey said, and pointed to the stone. "We see pictures of this monk everywhere. May I ask who he is?"

The statue was distinct. The Buddhist priest was wearing traveling clothing, carrying a begging bowl in one hand and a staff with rings on the end of it in the other, and had an especially wide hat over his head, blocking most of it from view. "He is Kōbō-Daishi," the priest-samurai explained. "He is responsible for the founding of Shingon school of Buddhism, making it more available to the people at large, and for creating much of our written language. He was a famous traveler who spent many years training in China before returning to Japan with his sacred knowledge."

"When did he live?"

"A thousand years ago. Many things have happened to the priesthood since then, but he is still a very important figure." He asked, "Do you have no one in Imbe to tell you these things?"

"It's more that there is so much to learn, and so little time to do it in," Georgie said.

"Will you visit me in my house outside the castle? I so rarely have guests, especially not foreigners."

"We will have to see," Geoffrey said. "Will all due respect, I don't think we're particularly welcome in the daimyo's home."

"You are under the protection of the shōgun, are you not? He wouldn't dare touch you. And you will have my protection, as my guest."

"We will consider your gracious offer," Georgie said. "We must consider all travel with great care, also under the shōgun's orders."

He nodded, and they bowed and said their goodbyes, leaving in opposite directions.

They returned later than they promised, but it was still light out. Alison came bounding out of the house as they approached. "Mama! Papa! Guess what I know!"

"What do you know?" Geoffrey said.

"Whore!"

"What?" Geoffrey was busy being the angry father while Georgie hid her laughter in her sleeve. "Who told you that word? Wait, that was a silly question. It was Mugen, wasn't it?"

"He didn't _teach it_ to me."

"Oi, don't go accusing me outright," Mugen said, leaning on the door. "First you have to have some proof that I'm guilty."

"Call it an instinct," Geoffrey said. "Where's Danny?"

"Dani-chan did protest. I tried to tell him that made it worse, but ... well, you gaijin can't hold your wine. Not four bottles of it, anyway."

"_Four bottles?_" Now Georgie was a little concerned, as Alison bounced around her.

"So you see, it wasn't his fault. He was so worried you would be upset, he had a little drink. He was very intimidated. He didn't want to fail in his duty of protecting Alison."

"And where is her guardian now?"

"Passed out in the courtyard."

"Oh, Geoffrey, be nice," Georgie said, lifting Alison into her arms. "You were a good girl otherwise, weren't you?"

"I picked up all my toys!"

"You did? How very good of you."

"Shamisen!"

"Mugen, we have to distract her with a more respectable instrument. What else is there?"

"The flute."

"The flute? That's very respectable."

"It's what beggars play to offer massages."

Geoffrey looked at his daughter, who for some reason was very interested in grabbing his sideburns. "You're hurting Papa."

"Shamisen!"

"Clobbering your opponent to get your way, huh? You're more like your mother every day." He managed to untangle her fist from his hair and started walking to the house.

"Geoffrey? Geoffrey Darcy, you get back here and explain yourself!" Georgie shouted, bearing their daughter as she followed him into the house.

...Next Chapter - The Wisdom of Sir Kogi


	39. The Wisdom of Sir Kogi

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 39 – The Wisdom of Sir Kogi

Mugen raised his sword. "Again."

Georgie didn't charge like she used to. She was more calculated than that, even if her moves were fast enough to make an uninformed observer think otherwise. Mugen had to leap over her swing entirely to avoid it, rolling in the sand across the field and back onto his feet. She didn't provide him a moment's respite, but he was ready, and struck her while she was still in mid-blow, throwing her off. He struck for her hand, and her escape was narrow.

"She's very good, your wife," the local priest said. He had come to give Sanjuro his medicine, but Sanjuro was on the porch with the rest of them, watching Mugen and Georgie spar.

"Hai, she almost has him," Sanjuro said. "If he wasn't learning by fighting, he'd have nothing else to teach her."

Geoffrey just nodded. Watching Georgie be struck anywhere and fall to the ground was still difficult, no matter how quickly she recovered and hit Mugen back.

"Papa," Alison tugged on his sleeve, drawing his attention to her. "Look." It was one of her dolls, the one that had a cloth shamisen attached to it.

"I get the hint," he said. "Maybe."

"Papa!"

"_Maybe_. First it requires some good behavior on your part. Did you clean your room?"

"Yes."

"Did you put away all your toys?"

"Yes."

"Then bring the book and we'll practice your reading."

She wailed and he pulled her into his arms. "My little girl. What am I going to do with you?"

Fortunately she didn't have to answer, because Georgie hit Mugen's hands hard enough to make him drop his wooden sword. "Enough." They collected their weapons, bowed, and returned to the house, where water was waiting for them. Mugen just dumped it on his head, but Georgie had the sophistication to wash her face, hands, and feet before stepping up to the porch.

"I'm going for a bath," she announced, kissing her daughter before throwing the towel over her shoulder.

"Are you up to going tonight?"

"Once I'm clean, yes." She bowed to her sensei and the others, and disappeared into the house.

"Thank you for not working her so hard," Geoffrey said to Mugen, who was staring out at the fields. "Mugen?"

"What?" Mugen looked back, distracted. "Oh. Well, she's very good. How do you say it in England again?"

"Accomplished."

"Yes. She is very accomplished."

Geoffrey laughed. "I don't think that's precisely how it's meant to be said, but I think she'll accept the compliment."

* * *

After receiving a letter of permission from the magistrate, Geoffrey and Georgiana Darcy dressed in their best clothing, kissed their daughter goodnight, and began heading up the path towards the castle-town. Getting reassurances that it was a safe journey weren't easy, and took a week, but they finally arranged a visit with the priest-samurai.

"You almost got the best of Mugen today," Geoffrey said as they walked up the winding path that connected Imbe and the larger castle-town.

"He was distracted," Georgie said. "He wouldn't tell me why."

"He's concerned for you."

"That's not it. What do you think he'll do when we're gone?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. What he always does – gamble and drink. Maybe commit some petty thievery. Why?"

"It's nothing, I suppose," she said. Seeing her deflated mode, he squeezed her hand, and managed a smile out of her as they approached the gates to the town. The castle of the daimyo loomed above them, high up on the hill.

"Who goes?"

"I think it should be obvious who we are," Geoffrey said. He presented them with the magistrate's letter. In short order, the gates were opened for them, and they began a leisurely walk through the streets of town, following the instructions given to them.

It was nothing like Imbe. There were rows of merchant shops, housing all kinds of exotic wares, and teahouses and taverns with multiple floors instead of just the one. Everything was named with colored flags, making Imbe seem drab in comparison, and the streets were well-swept and filled not just with merchants and wives but with samurai of all statures.

"There's a guy leering at you," Geoffrey whispered.

"He's not leering. He's staring. He must remember me."

"Why would he remember you?"

"Because I beat him up," she said. She might be wearing a beautiful woman's kimono, but she was still wearing her sword. "In front of his daimyo."

Geoffrey laughed. Everywhere they went, they were stared at, and they were glad that at least not everyone was hostile. The shopkeepers were more than happy to get a look at the gaijin constable and his warrior wife, and since they had a little time on their hands, they picked a few to wander through.

"They really are played by respectable people," Georgie said as they stood over rows of small shamisens. "And she hasn't stopped talking about it for two weeks now."

"You're right. She's not usually that devoted to a cause." He relented and chose a child's shamisen, with green paint and a gold-colored lining. The shopkeeper wrapped it for them and they continued on their way.

They finally found their way to the priest-samurai's house. He greeted them outside and welcomed them into his home, which was not far from the large temple down the road. "Thank you for coming."

They stepped up to the wooden floor. The place was Spartan even by Japanese standards, but then again, he was a priest. He wore only his sword and the garb of a monk while at home. The middle pit, which could be used for a fire or for trays, was turned into a sandbox that they recognized.

"Is that a Zen garden, O-samurai-sama?"

"Hai." He took his seat across from them as a servant, some kind of novice priest from his clothing, began to set their trays in place. "Do you have them in the West?"

"Not usually, but our uncle, who trades with the Dutch, gave us one for a wedding present," Geoffrey said. "We've been trying to figure it out ever since."

"It is very simple." The samurai picked up the little rake and drew it across from one end to the other in a careful, steady motion, making a perfect line in the sand. "The act is one of meditation. It is so simple to achieve with proper concentration, and yet, no serious thinking is required. It requires a lack of thinking – an absence of mind. Like sitting meditation, it allows for one to be aware of the stream of thoughts, allowing them to arise and pass away without interference to one's personal harmony."

They were served bowls of fish and rice, with hot tea and a salty soup with noodles. They bowed to their host and began to eat after he did. "Are you saying that thoughts interfere with life? That one should be mindless?" Geoffrey said.

"Not mindless. Mindful. That is the path to Enlightenment – mindfulness. But you must concentrate on noble truths to guide yourself, not be distracted by material things and noises that distract us and cause us suffering."

"You are obviously very learned in such matters," Georgie said.

He smiled. "I am just a student. I do not have a lifetime to even begin to understand it. For many years, I was just a mindless warrior, practicing the samurai arts as I was taught. As I grew older, I began to study the warrior texts, and I realized that not all wisdom is found in the sword. If not for my samurai status, I would have become a monk."

"How is it possible, to be a holy man and to also kill?" Geoffrey said. "If you don't mind my asking."

"All life is suffering. The samurai, the true, noble warrior, is meant for the purpose of battle. But to elevate oneself to the priesthood, and devote oneself to Buddha, is to elevate the samurai within as well. Many centuries ago, it was quite popular for samurai and other warriors to become priest and monks. They believed that if they dedicated their life to Buddha, he would grant them special favors. This view is simplistic, but we have had much time to meditate on the philosophy since then, and we have also lost their teachings, when they burned each other's temples. Eventually, the shōgun broke the power of the temples and separated the monasteries from the warrior class. Do you have something similar in the West?"

"Many centuries ago," Geoffrey said, "some of our people went to conquer lands in the name of our god. They massacred many people before losing all that they had gained. But traditionally, our priests did not spill blood, and today, I've never seen one who has."

"Our uncle, on Geoffrey's side, was a monk," Georgie said as she tried to get her chopsticks around the long noodle. "He preaches forgiveness. He would forgive anyone for anything."

"What if the person does not sin?"

Geoffrey grinned. "Have you ever met anyone like that?"

He returned it. "No. But the samurai code's emphasis is on conduct. Forgiveness comes in a noble death."

"Our cousin Danny, who is with us, is a student in the warrior code. I don't think he quite understands it, but I would say we understand it even less."

The priest-samurai nodded. "Loyalty, obedience, sacrifice – these are all easy concepts to understand on the surface, but there is much hidden beneath it. I have found it is simpler to use Zen teachings as a guide, to empty my mind of preconceived notions so that I can learn new ones with greater ease and devote my life to the study of them. And of course, it has a practical application. Through mindfulness, I become better suited to combat, if I am more mindful of my enemy."

"Have you found a use for it?" Georgie asked. "In the dojo, I mean." She doubted he had ever seen combat, or perhaps even drawn his sword on anyone.

"At this I am but a poor student. It is very hard to attain true mindfulness – one would say, in this case, awareness – to be used for combat. There was a school of it, a legendary one – the school of no-sword."

"No sword?" Georgie parroted.

"Hai. The ultimate master would use a sword, because a samurai's soul is his sword, but it was not the killing instrument. The student of no-sword strived to attain total mindfulness to all of his surroundings, to the point where he could use them against his enemy. He would be unbeatable. He could not be hit, and he could hit with himself, not just his weapon."

Geoffrey looked at his wife, who looked down at her food and continued eating.

"I did not think there were any more practitioners until I met a man who is actually here, in our temple. He is a great samurai in Edo, or so people say."

"Really?"

"Yes. It is not commonly known, but he came several days ago, somehow slipping past all the guards and arriving quietly at the temple, where he paid for a room despite many openings at the inns. In those days, he has devoted himself to meditation. When there is a service, you cannot see him. I've only seen him – and spoken to him – because I am at the temple every day. I noticed something about him was odd from the start, but he would not pay me any heed for two days.

"I was so curious that I persisted. I found him gardening with the monks – another meditative act – and spoke to him briefly about his journey. I asked if he was on a pilgrimage, and he told me he was preparing himself to fight a great enemy. 'For ten years I have trained,' he said. 'How can ten years be summed up in one moment?'"

"What did you tell him?" Georgie asked.

"At first I couldn't think of what to say, but then it came from me, like a passing thought of someone wiser – 'Ten years is merely a collection of moments, so the passage of time is merely an illusion that they come in any order.' He smiled at me and continued his gardening. I have not seen Sir Kogi since."

Geoffrey knew he should have stopped himself before he was done with his sentence. "Did you say Sir Kogi?"

"Hai. Have you heard of him?"

"I-In passing," he mumbled, and began stuffing his mouth with rice to avoid further questioning. He knew without looking up that Georgie was staring at him. "While we were in Edo – I heard of him."

"Yes, I understand he is famous. Once it gets out that he is here, he may have to leave, or he'll never have a moment's peace."

"What is he famous for?"

The priest-samurai did not immediately answer her question. He looked between husband and wife, one of whom was curious and the other of whom was subtly shaking his head. "Merely he is valued by the shōgunate, I suppose. I had never met him before, and heard little of him."

"Now you're both lying," Georgie said, putting down her dish with a very decisive _clink_. She turned to Geoffrey. "Who is Sir Kogi?"

"He is the captain of the assassins for the shōgun," he said getting to his feet, "and if he's here, we should probably leave. Please excuse – "

The front door slid open. "Forgive me," said the samurai in the entrance." He did not bow or remove his ronin hat. His comment was directed towards the priest, but he turned to the Darcys without looking directly at them. "Oi." He looked at Georgie. "Tell your sensei that I'm ready for him."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She pulled free of Geoffrey's grasp when the samurai didn't answer him, following him as he turned to leave. "Answer me!"

"He knows what it means."

As he stepped out the door, Georgie ran forward to get around him, but when he came to her, he wasn't there. He avoided her entirely, even though she was right in front of him and he was, by all appearances, walking straight forward. "Hey! Get back here!" But before she could go, Geoffrey grabbed her from behind and pulled her back inside, closing the door in front of her and holding her tight. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Protecting you," he said.

She pushed him away, causing him to topple into the garden, ruining the priest's beautiful imprint. "You knew about this! You knew the captain of the assassins was coming for Mugen!"

"I overheard – He told me not to tell you." With the priest's help, he stood up and dusted himself off. "Mugen _begged _me not to tell you. He was trying to protect you."

"Your husband speaks the truth."

Georgie was livid, but she bit her tongue, and bowed to their host, picking up her sword as she did. "Forgive me, O-samurai-sama, but I must depart, to deliver this message."

"I understand. I'm sorry that – "

"Georgie." Geoffrey grabbed her hand, but she slapped it away.

"_Don't touch me_." She practically hissed it, and without another word, the door was open, and she was gone, in the direction of the front gates.

Geoffrey cursed. "Excuse me."

"You are very excused, Okappiki-san."

He shouldered his rifle, picked up the package for Alison, and charged out the door and into the night, chasing after his wife. It was unlikely he would catch her, and as he paused on the path to catch his breath, he supposed that it was better if he didn't. Perhaps she would blow off some steam on the way, or unload some of her anger on Mugen before he returned. The look she gave him back at the priest's house was truly terrifying and he hardly wanted to come home to _that_, but he would if he had to.

He had foolishly not taken a lantern with him, and in the darkness it took him nearly an hour to get home. He stumbled towards the magistrate's complex exhausted, filthy, and a bit frightened. The Alison who greeted him at the door was hugging her doll, specifically the stuffed animal he bought her in Dejima. "Mama's crying."

Since she was on the platform and he still on the ground, he was almost eye-level with her. "Where is she?"

"She started yelling at Mugen-san and then she started crying. She said you made her really mad."

He embraced his daughter, and she did not eagerly return the motion, but she did not retract, either. "Sometimes adults get mad at each other, even when we don't mean to."

"She told Mugen you lied to her. You said lying is wrong."

"It is. But sometimes people do it."

"Why?"

He sighed, and decided to be as honest as he could be. "I don't know. I don't know why we do these things when we shouldn't." He kissed her. "Your mother's going to be fine. I promise. Let me talk to her."

She nodded, and wiped her eyes, and he removed his shoes and stepped inside. Their sitting room was empty. "Danny? Sanjuro?"

"Oi." It was the weak voice of Sanjuro, who was sitting in the courtyard. Geoffrey put his rifle up on the shelf and stepped outside. "Jorgi-san told Dani to get lost, and he listened. He's in town somewhere."

"Where is she?"

"In the dojo, with Mugen." He looked up over his shoulder. "Is it true?"

"That Sir Kogi is in town? Yes." He added, "I didn't mean for her to find out this way. I didn't mean for her to find out at all."

"She's brighter than that. How could you not know that?" He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to be you right now."

Geoffrey gulped and stepped across the courtyard, carefully entering the dojo. Mugen was seated on the raised platform, his head low, and Georgie was on the floor in front of him, with her head on the ground, sobbing.

"Jeffrey," Mugen said, "please talk to her."

"No!" she shouted. "I don't want to talk to him."

"I made him swear."

"So what? He should have more loyalty to me than he has to you!"

Geoffrey finally had the courage to say, "Georgie – "

"Don't call me that! I'm not a child!" She sat up, her eyes ablaze. "And this isn't Pemberley. You're not the man in charge of the house while I arrange the table settings and entertain the guests. This is my fight!"

"It is not," Mugen said. "If you fight him, you'll be killed. If you try to avenge me, you'll be killed. For that alone, I wouldn't tell you, but you have a family. You can't abandon them because I was an idiot and didn't listen to Master Hyuu and wasn't able to kill Kogi when I had the chance. I was not a good student." He had the bracelet in his hand, and he was playing with the beads. "My only purpose in living was to be here to pass on the knowledge of San Soo to you. Now that's done, and Sir Kogi knows that. I can't keep him waiting."

"You can!" There was so much pain in her voice; it made it unbearable for Geoffrey to listen to. "Where is my fearless sensei?"

"Jorgi-chan," he said carefully, "this is the only man I ever fought that I couldn't kill, and who almost killed me. The only reason I'm here is because he let me live."

"He could do it again! What does the shōgun care if you're still alive? He's probably forgotten all about you."

He shook his head. "It's not that way."

She stood up. "You're a coward, just like Geoffrey! You don't even want to win. If you did, you wouldn't be worried about it. You just want to roll over and die because he got lucky one time. Do you even want to live? Are you going to try?"

"Jorgi – "

"Is that all I am to you?" she said. "Your student? Because of this shit about Master Hyuu?" She removed the prayer beads from her wrist and threw them at him. He had to move to the side to dodge them, and they hit with such velocity that the string broke, and the beads went everywhere, hitting the walls and rolling across the floor. "I'm not your dead master. I'm Georgiana Bingley, and I thought you cared about me, enough to not just up and leave me without any explanation. And now that there is one, you won't even fight. You'll just abandon me." She scooped up some of the beads that had rolled to her feet and threw them at him. "Take your stupid Buddhist shit that you won't even admit to and go wreck someone else's life!"

She stormed out, knocking into Geoffrey but merely shoving him aside without acknowledging his presence. He stood there, and looked back at Mugen, but in the darkness, his expression was unreadable.

"If she stays mad at me, maybe she won't get involved," Mugen said. "Then she'll live. I just want her to live." He picked up one of the beads. "Will you tell her I did this because I love her?"

"Yes," he said, his mouth dry.

"Thank you, Jeffrey." He bowed just a little, and said no more. Geoffrey returned the bow and left him alone in his thoughts.

Alison was waiting for him in the main room. "Mama says she doesn't want to see you."

"She'll be better in the morning."

"May I sleep with you?"

He smiled sadly. "It seems I haven't any choice in the matter." Together they walked through the Darcy bedroom, where Georgie responded to their entrance by rolling away in the other direction, and passed into Alison's room. Geoffrey removed his jacket and curled up beside his daughter on her tiny mat, so small that his feet were much further out past its end. She hugged her doll and he hugged her, and somehow together they found sleep.

...Next Chapter - When It Rains...


	40. When It Rains

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 40 - When It Rains...

Mugen slept better than he thought he would, if only for a few hours. There was no prophetic dreams, no visions of death. He slept dreamlessly, and in the still hours before dawn, lay awake, replaying the Kogi fight over again and again in his mind. Georgie was right – he had survived once, and he was a better fighter, but so was Sir Kogi.

He washed himself, dressed, and returned to the dojo. It was night, so he lit a lamp and used it to find all of the beads from Master Hyuu's juzu set. He knew the exact number, which meant he was searching in the cracks between the door and the wall, and he even found one under a pillow, but he found them all and put them safely in a wooden bowl. He sighed as he looked at the broken cord, which he couldn't fix without creating a knot somewhere. So much left undone. He put the cord and the bowl of beads up on the platform and bowed his head. "Forgive me."

It was still dark outside, but he didn't take a lantern. No one was stirring in the magistrate's house, and probably wouldn't for a while. He paused, then continued on.

By the time he reached the bottom of the steps that lead to the shrine, the sky was at least a brighter blue. "Oi. I thought we agreed on this."

"We agreed on nothing," Georgie said. She sat on the bottom step, her sword in her lap.

"Go home."

"If you truly want to abandon me, then you're not my sensei. You're just some criminal, and you don't have to tell me what to do." She stood up, shouldering the sword. "I'm here of my own volition."

He swung, but she was ready for it, drawing her sword in just enough time to block him. They stood there, in their positions, neither pushing the other. "I don't want it to be like this."

She pushed him away with her ki and got back into stance. "Then what do you want it to be like? What is your perfect world, Mugen-san?"

"One where you don't abandon your family."

"You are my family!"

She swung a wide cut that would have torn him in half if he didn't duck back quickly enough, his blade raised in a defensive position. "What does Jeffrey think?"

"If he doesn't think I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do this, then he doesn't know me at all."

Her next swing was more insistent. She did not let him easily escape without a clash of blades, and he had to push her back. She resisted, and he pushed again, so hard that she fell back against a tree and they stood there, their blades locked – her with nowhere to go, Mugen with only the option to press her or retreat. "Heh. Then I suppose he knows you very well." He withdrew, releasing her. "Do you really want to die for me?"

"Of course not! I want to help you kill Kogi. When did you become such a coward?"

Mugen chuckled. "I don't know." He put his blade away. "I suppose, if there's two of us, there might be a chance. But he won't go easy on you just because you're not his assignment." He sat on the stone step. "Oi. I have it."

"Sensei?"

"You'll see it – he never leaves an opening. I'll have to create one. When you see it, take it, but don't expect to cut him. Swing with your sword like you would, but he'll block. Then kill him with your touch, with your other hand. Can you do it?"

She smiled. "It sounds impossible, but that's no reason not to try."

They ascended the temple steps together, and went through it and out the back way, to the wooded area that the daimyo wanted to clear. This led them far from the main road, so the commotion of the passing samurai escaped their attention.

* * *

Mugen wasn't present at breakfast, but that wasn't unusual. Considering the fight he had with Georgie last night, Danny guessed he was drunk somewhere and/or laying low. Georgie and Geoffrey weren't present either, but it was still fairly early, and he had learned the lesson not to intrude on their privacy a few too many times. Alison came out on her own, searching for food. The real surprise was that Sanjuro bowed and joined him. "Dani-san."

"Sanjuro-san. It's good to see you looking so well."

Sanjuro smiled and sat down. He needed a cane to walk, but he managed to do it on his own. "Oi, where's everyone?"

"You didn't see Mugen?"

"I didn't expect to." He looked down at Alison. "Ali-chan, where are your parents?"

"Papa's asleep."

"And your mother?"

She shook her head, as her mouth was stuffed with a gooey rice ball.

"What's wrong?" Danny said.

"Probably nothing. There's jut something on the wind, you know?"

Danny nodded. "I'll wake Geoffrey." Before Sanjuro could raise any protest, he opened the door to the Darcy's bedroom, but it was empty. He slid open the next door, and entered Alison's room. Geoffrey was awkwardly asleep on her mattress, which he didn't begin to fit. Only his torso was really on anything comfortable; his head was on a pillow further up and his legs were sticking out. He was on his side. "Geoffrey?" No response. He shook him. "Geoffrey."

This time, he stirred, and yawned. "What – what is it?"

"Georgie's gone."

He stared blankly at him. "What? Wait, hold on." He reached into his ear and removed a plug. "Sorry. I don't even remember putting it in."

"Georgie's missing."

Now he had Geoffrey's attention. "What?" He stood up, clutching the plug. "She thought maybe I would hear her – Damnit!" He rubbed his eyes. "Tell Kiso to bring me all my guns and ammunition while I dress. We don't have a moment to lose."

Danny bowed. "Hai." He ran back to the main room, and gave Kiso the orders.

"It's that serious?" Sanjuro said. He picked up his long sword, which he was usually too weak to wear in his obi with his short sword, and put it in place. "Jorgi-san must have gone to fight Sir Kogi, or at least stop Mugen from doing so."

"How dangerous is this Sir Kogi? I only heard a little of it last night, and when I came home, everyone was asleep."

Sanjuro frowned. "Very dangerous." He coughed into his sleeve, and said to Kiso as he came back. "I have an errand for you, after this. Kiso?"

But Kiso just carried the guns into the far room. Sanjuro looked unsettled.

"What is it? Sanjuro-san?"

Sanjuro limped into the Darcy's bedroom, and that was when they both heard the crash of a body being thrown into the wooden wall – not hard enough to break it, but enough to make a visible dent. Sanjuro dropped his cane, drew his katana, and stepped into Alison's room. "Keep Ali-san back."

Danny grabbed her and pulled her to him, so her eyes were turned away as Sanjuro swung, and Kiso cried out, tumbling backwards and through the paper door, a spray of blood gushing from him as he fell from where Sanjuro cut him. Sanjuro limped further in, and Danny picked up Alison and followed. "Cover your eyes."

The guns were on the mattress. Geoffrey was leaning against the wall, holding his head. Before him was a dropped short sword that they didn't recognize, and he was cut on the shoulder. "What – where – I can't tell what's going on. Alison – "

"She's here. I have her," Danny said. He didn't want to release her, not with Geoffrey bloodied. If the wound had gone any deeper, it would have cut him open.

Sanjuro slowly hobbled his way to the body of Kiso, and knelt beside him, using his sword to stabilize himself. He pulled away the kimono to expose a tattoo on Kiso's arm. "Ninja."

"What?"

Sanjuro had another coughing fit, and they patiently waited for him to recover. Geoffrey wasn't capable of getting to his feet. "He spun me around."

"He knew your weakness," Danny said. "He learned it before we took the Tanaka gang."

Sanjuro swallowed and stood, putting his sword back in its scabbard and leaning on the wall. "He was ninja the whole time. He was a spy for the shōgun, probably. Don't they spy on foreigners?"

"Yes," Geoffrey said, pressing his hand against his wound. "In Nagasaki ... and in Edo, we always had several attendants, and Mr. Maddox told us ..." He trailed off again, disoriented. "He told us some would be spies."

"But everyone in the caravan was killed," Danny said.

"Except Kiso. Somehow he survived," Geoffrey said. "And he was one of the spies."

Sanjuro took a blanket and covered Kiso's body, and Danny set Alison down. She ran and hugged her immobilized father. "Papa!"

"Alison." He smiled at her, still clutching his wound.

"I'll get the doctor," Danny offered.

"No." Geoffrey swallowed. "Stop. We need to think. This attack was planned. It might not be safe. Give me a moment." He was so used to being in charge; it was hard to watch him struggle to collect his thoughts. "Sanjuro ... you saved me."

"I guess my samurai senses aren't wasting away with the rest of me," Sanjuro said, finally sitting down. "There was a look in his eyes that I didn't like, but I wasn't fast enough to save you."

"You did save me. I'll recover." He sighed. "Georgie."

"She went to stop Mugen," Danny said, liking the situation less and less. "We have to assume that."

"That might have triggered the attack, somehow," Sanjuro said. "Both of them gone – it's when I would strike. But there's some other connection."

"The magistrate?" Geoffrey said.

Danny and Sanjuro exchanged looks.

"Give me my guns. I can still shoot – if someone comes close enough," Geoffrey said, and Danny did so. "Now, go find the magistrate."

Sanjuro picked up his cane and Danny helped him to his feet. "How do you feel?"

"It doesn't matter. Let's find the magistrate."

The common areas of the complex were abandoned. They found a trail of blood leading to the receiving room, where the magistrate's personal attendant lay. "Turn him over," Sanjuro said, and Danny did so, and lurched back in horror at the sight of his slit throat. "It was done quickly. He probably didn't have time to scream."

Danny recovered himself enough to slide open the door to the magistrate's private office, where his first step was into a blood-soaked mat. The magistrate lay dead on the floor, his throat also slit, one hand still grasping for a chest that lay only a foot beyond it. Danny opened it to piles of coins. "His treasury. He died trying to save it."

"It wasn't looted?" Sanjuro frowned. "Kiso couldn't have done all of this. Not without getting his clothes ruined." That was when they heard the shouting. "Jeffrey-san!"

He tried to run but doubled over. While he was still coughing, holding his hand to his mouth to hide the blood, Danny picked him up and helped him get across the courtyard and back into the common room, where Alison was hiding under the larger tray. "Where's your father?"

She pointed to her room. They stumbled as fast as they could to the room. The doorway on the other side that led to the front of the building was not only opened but pulled off, allowing for the entrance of three samurai, all partially armored, who stood before Geoffrey. He was still in the same position against the wall, facing them with a rifle in his hands.

"Choshu clan," Sanjuro said. "I recognize the Mon. What are you doing here? This man is under the protection of the shōgun."

"That protection has been withdrawn." The leader unrolled a scroll before them. "The foreigners are to be contained and removed to Nagasaki, and all those who've had contact with them are to be executed for harboring foreigners in direct conflict with the laws of the bakafu."

"But that's the entire town!" Danny shouted.

"I know," Geoffrey said. "And there's a bit more to it. What else, samurai?" He waved his gun in the direction of the leader.

"The Choshu know you have a small fortune hidden here. If you hand it to us now, we'll make sure that there are no accidents along the road for you as we escort you back to Nagasaki."

"Like there was an accident on the way here," Geoffrey said.

"Hai, those sorts of things happen all the time. We can't be responsible for the total safety of our prisoners."

Geoffrey paused before speaking. "Allow me to understand this completely, O-samurai-sama. Not only are you taking us prisoner and removing us to Nagasaki against our will based on what you say is the shōgun's authority, but we also have to pay you to not murder us along the way?"

"We are following the orders of the shōgun! Disrespect will not be tolerated, gaijin!"

"And you'll murder this entire town," Geoffrey said, "just because they live here, and the shōgun sent us here."

"They will be treated like any Japanese who harbor foreigners against the government's will."

He swallowed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts again. He looked at Danny, and mouthed 'Hide Alison.' He looked at Sanjuro, but nothing needed to be said, neither was he capable of anything. He was barely capable of moving his head back to face the commander. "I see. Unfortunately, I am Okappiki of Imbe, and my duty is to see that they see justice served, and are protected from harm. Therefore, I can only have one possible answer."

With that he raised his rifle, and shot the samurai commander at point blank range.

* * *

"This is unexpected."

Mugen and Georgie found Sir Kogi in a clearing, kneeling before a flowerbed. He stood when they approached, but did not turn to face them.

"Let's get this over with," Mugen said, drawing his sword. "Fighting you is always a pain in the ass."

"I must admit that I have some interest in seeing your successor fight. However, that is not my intention, and it would be unfortunate if I was forced to." He looked at Georgiana. "Shouldn't you be elsewhere? Oh, I suppose you don't know."

"I know I won't let you trick me into abandoning my sensei!"

Sir Kogi chuckled. "She has your impatience. I will give you that, Moo Shin-san." He slowly drew his own sword, but held it down. "It is a tragedy that no matter who wins, one sacred tradition will die today, because that is what our lazy, peace-loving government have decreed. San Soo lost the political battle to the Shaolin, and my school fell victim to hubris."

"Heh. I heard you slaughtered them all! That's a little different."

"I did not say I did otherwise." He finally turned to them, but did not raise his sword properly. "Moo Shin, you were the best fighter I have ever encountered. O-gaijin-san, you will probably be the other one. Please do not disappoint on this account." He stepped back with one foot, settling into an attack stance, even if his blade was still lowered. "Come."

"Don't be afraid to run," Mugen whispered as they readied their blades.

"I'm not a coward."

"That's why I said, _don't be afraid_," he said with a grin. He gave a cry and leapt into the air, coming out swinging with full force at Kogi, but somehow, he missed entirely, landing on the ground behind him. Georgie watched in amazement; Sir Kogi hadn't moved at all. He hadn't even raised his blade. His eyes met hers just beneath his straw hat.

"I want to see you fight."

_Happy to oblige_. She found herself strangely eager to see him, too, but she didn't. He was just _gone_, and she missed him. He swung at her, and she had to drop and roll out of the way, leaping back to her feet.

Neither of them moved. Sir Kogi lowered his blade, and repositioned himself. He was waiting.

Mugen nodded to her and they both came at him, one from the left and the other from behind. Even though both blades hit in different places, he blocked them both at once, which such force that they were knocked back. Their geta pulled up the grass as they tried to get themselves to stop. Slowly, he advanced on Mugen, who ducked and tried to kick his legs, missed, and ran around him, this time going with his sword for the shoulder. Kogi's sword was already there to block, but Mugen's sword bent, and slid past it, distracting Kogi long enough for Mugen to bring their locked swords down, take one hand off the hilt, and punch for Kogi's face. This time, Kogi's swerve to avoid it was perfectly visible, and he had to push Mugen back again to be ready for Georgiana's charge. This time their blades did connect, though she only slid off his and went flying to the side again, landing face-first in the grass.

"Impressive," Kogi said as they picked themselves up. "_Very_ impressive."

"Meanwhile, you still have the same magic tricks," Mugen said.

"Perhaps your master never taught you that proper mindfulness is no trick," Kogi said.

Georgie came first this time, before Mugen could stop her. She kept charging into him until the very last second, when she flipped over, and hit him in the face with her geta, then somersaulted out of the way. Mugen rushed him, but he blocked it easily, tossing Mugen backwards and over a tree stump. Georgie went back in, but this time Sir Kogi deflected her and swung, making a gash in her arm. She fell back and knelt low, holding it tight with her other arm.

"Excellent improvisation," he said, rubbing his chin where she hit him. "Your sensei must be proud."

Mugen was in no mood to be proud. He was furious, and he came wildly at Kogi, swinging and being deflected, swinging and being blocked, swinging and missing until he ran out of steam, and doubled back, running to Georgie. "Are you all right? Let me see?"

As Kogi stepped closer to them, Mugen removed a piece of cloth from Georgie's obi and tied it around her arm. "Go! Move!" They both ducked in opposite directions to escape the sheer force of his swing, which cut the grass in a long line past where he actually was. It was as if he held the wind with his blade, and released it as he pleased, tossing gusts back between the two of them to keep them moving. They couldn't even dream of attacking. It was only defense.

"Oi, so that's how it is? Bring out the big weapons now?" Mugen laughed, despite his exhaustion, and raised his sword. This time when Kogi shot a line of force at him, he blocked with his tai chi sword, and it bent with it, allowing for the passage of ki and for him to continue forward. Step-by-step, he moved closer before finally getting in range of Kogi. He kicked him. It was not enough to topple the samurai, but it was enough to make him feel it, and he raised his own blade and swung to push Mugen away again. "Oh, so _now_ it's serious."

"When I decide to get serious, you'll be dead." Kogi raised his sword, tossing Georgie's new attack aside with a mere glance, and continued advancing on Mugen. "With my humble gratitude – "

He swung, and his blade fell towards Mugen's fallen form.

...Next Chapter - ... It Pours


	41. It Pours

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

**Author's Notes:** The book of the first two stories is now available in stores and online. If you want to buy it, you won't be hugely surprised about the plot, but there will be less spelling errors. Well, Sourcebooks made a few of their own. Either way it is my intention to keep my fanfic up and online for free as long as I can. If you choose to review it on Amazon, please do not post spoilers for future stories, as the future books have not been bought by Sourcebooks. This book only covers the first two stories in the series. Thank you!

* * *

Chapter 41 - ... It Pours

The other two samurai were quick to respond to the death of their commander, but Geoffrey was quicker. He dropped his rifle and picked up both his pistols, firing at both of them as they ran forward. One went right down with a good shot to the face, but the other was only stunned and the bullet missed. It slowed him down enough that Sanjuro had time to cut him down, but the action left him breathing heavy, and coughing from all of the gunpowder smoke.

They paused and listened. There were some sounds, but they were far away. "They're coming, Jeffrey-san."

"I know. I have to reload." He reached into his kimono and retrieved his pill case, which contained his earplug. In case he actually survived this, he would prefer to keep his remaining hearing intact and not be completely deaf. He looked at Alison, who was crying, then Danny, and Sanjuro, who had blood from his enemies on his kimono. "Danny ... I want you to take Alison, and go find Georgiana."

"What? I can fight!"

"I know you can," he said, "that's why I'm trusting you with my daughter." He looked at her, but he couldn't focus his eyes. The room was still spinning, and the gunshots had just aggravated his headache. "If you can get Mugen and Georgie back here, we might have a chance. Until then, I want Alison out of harm's way."

"We could hide, in the woods."

"They're samurai," Sanjuro said. "How far would we get before they found us?"

"Sanjuro can barely walk, and I'm in no condition to move myself." Geoffrey knew he would have to be carried; Kiso made sure of that. "Danny, please understand – the most important thing in the world right now is for you to get Alison to safety. Do you understand?"

Danny nodded, but Alison grabbed her father. "I don't want to go!"

"You can't stay. You'll go get Mama," he said. "She can make things better." He stroked her long hair. He was having trouble concentrating, but it was worth the tremendous effort. "I love you. I would never send you away unless I thought it was right." He pulled her even closer. "I love you."

"I love you, Papa."

"Now go," he said, pushing her away, mainly because he didn't want her to see his tears. "Go find Mama."

Danny picked her up, and she waved at him. Danny bowed, and he was gone.

It was too painful to say goodbye.

Geoffrey turned his head and wiped his eyes. Sanjuro knelt next to him. "Do you want me to get you something?"

"No. Save your strength." He began the complicated process of reloading the rifle. The pistols were easier, but they wouldn't be as effective. Thank heavens Brian had been so serious about those lessons. "Hand me those bullets, will you?" He pointed in the general direction, and Sanjuro did so. "Thank you. What do you think our chances are?"

"It depends how fast they come, how many there are, and how many bullets you have."

"I'm going to have to kill them all now, aren't I?" He looked up at the bodies in front of him. They had made it quite close; that was why he was able to hit them. "I'm sorry to get you involved."

"Are you kidding? I wanted to die in battle and now I think I'm going to get my wish." Sanjuro collected the different bullets and made them into piles. "Tell Dani-san that I'm proud of him. He may think he's a coward, but I don't."

Geoffrey put his earpiece in. He could still hear, but not as well. "If I make it out of here, I'll do that."

* * *

Mugen swung his legs out in front of him, catching Kogi's blade between the teeth of his geta. Normally he could have simply kicked the blade away, but this was Sir Kogi, and he had to work at it before he succeeded, and his own recovery was slower. Georgie charged, and missed again. How was he there and not there at the same time? How was it possible?

Maybe Mugen could explain it, but he was busy getting to his feet and counterattacking, trying to push Kogi into the same desperation that he was. He missed, swung, and missed again. Sir Kogi was simply determined not to be hit.

"The same old tricks," Mugen said. "You must be a very old dog."

Mugen said Kogi didn't have any openings. Georgiana looked at Mugen, and he nodded. Instead of openly attacking Kogi, she changed her tactics, running around him with an occasional failed swipe, determined to find that opening while Mugen did most of the fighting. They were both tiring; Sir Kogi remained so still that he did not give the appearance of doing so, but for a bead of sweat on his forehead. So he _was_ human. She'd hit him once, with her foot, but not enough to do serious damage, much less kill him – and that was what she needed to do.

Every time she saw Sir Kogi's back, it was but a momentarily glance, because if she moved towards him, he always turned to block her. He was always fast enough, even with them teaming up on him.

"And you, the same stray dog," Sir Kogi said. "Do you have any new tricks?"

"Maybe one," Mugen said, and swung.

She didn't see it, because she wasn't looking at him. She was doing what she was told, and looking at Sir Kogi. She saw his back, and swung. It didn't move. In fact, he learned one way to avoid having his arm sliced off, but other than that –

- _he was open_.

The priest-samurai had said that every moment was just that: a moment, and time was merely a collection of them, and the illusion that they were arranged in some order. When she cleared her mind, they appeared before her – training with Mugen, fighting with Mugen, Geoffrey holding her when she was cold or tired or sore, Mugen drawing the lines of ki in her body, her cutting down the apple from the tree in Lancashire, Christian Darcy – all of that pain was just energy. Her body was full of it, and if she was willing to give it up, just enough, it would be too much for another body to endure.

She could feel herself breathe like she did when she meditated as she took a deep one, and slammed her palm into Kogi's back. She held it there, trying to push through, trying to make sure his whole body _felt it_.

A spurt of blood came from the side. It was his head turned sideways as his mouth spewed blood. He jerked back and forth away from her before falling over, his eyes bulging. His body convulsed, and then went still.

She could hear her breathing – there wasn't anything else to hear. She could feel her heart thumping. Georgie dropped her sword. She was so drained that it became a weight she couldn't bear. "Mugen," she whispered. It wasn't meant to be, but that was as much energy as she could put into her voice. "He's dead. You – "

Sir Kogi had been between them, and had fallen away. It took her some time for her eyes to refocus on Mugen, who stood uneasily, Sir Kogi's long sword planted deep in his chest.

"Mugen!" Now she had to shout, and she caught him as he fell, and helped him to the ground. Reality focused again, and the peaceful part of her was gone. "Mugen-sensei."

"Oi," he said, his mouth full of blood. "Did it work?"

She nodded. "Brace yourself." Quickly enough to do it but slowly enough to not do further damage, she pulled the blade from his chest, and blood spattered on his kimono. She tossed the blade aside, near Kogi's body, and nearly collapsed next to him, but managed to stay at least sitting up. "Mugen."

"What? It worked. Now let me rest."

That was his plan. He created an opening – on his own body. Sir Kogi took it, and was too distracted by victory to avoid Georgie's touch. "No." She removed her jacket, and tore it apart with her sword, creating strips of cloth. "You have to stay awake." He had to stop losing blood. She lifted him up just enough to get the cloth under him and around and he cried out, and it came pouring down, like it was dumped from a container. "I'm going to get you to help."

"What ... help is there for me?" He smiled at her. "Why should I stay alive?"

A thousand reasons. Because he had a life ahead of him. Because he had so many things undone. Because she couldn't bear to see him die. But instead she only answered, "Why not?"

When he laughed, it was more of a pained cackle. "Good answer."

She had no time to rest. As he lay still, she collected their things – both their swords, which she put back in their scabbards and thrust into her obi. "I'm going to lift you up." She added, "It's going to hurt like a bitch."

"You – your father's right. I – I am a bad influence on you."

"Mugen." She grabbed his face and pointed it at hers, so he had no choice but to look at her, even if he couldn't fully open his eyes. "Promise me you'll try to stay awake. Promise me you won't drift away." Her voice cracked. "Promise me you won't die."

He closed his eyes and sighed, visibly gathering his own strength. He tightened his fist. "Jorgi-chan, you horrible child, making me love you. I can't refuse you anything."

She held back her sobs. She didn't have time for this now. "Promise me?"

"Promise." His voice faded out. He didn't speak anymore, though he did groan several times as she navigated tying him to her back. She used Sir Kogi's obi to do it, but as long as she kept herself bent, Mugen stayed where he was. Her back felt wet, and she knew he was still bleeding, and it would continue until she found Dr. Ogata.

"Remember, you promised me, Mugen-san." With slow, pained steps, she began the journey back to Imbe.

* * *

Sanjuro managed to move the bodies a bit, creating a sickening short wall between them and any oncoming samurai. They sat and waited, but they did not have long to wait before the next came, with the same white headbands and the same crests of the Choshu clan. Their horror at the sight before them was enough to make them pause, which was all Geoffrey needed. He took out the largest of them, the biggest target, with his rifle blast, and the samurai went backwards and fell down somewhere in the room in front of them, as the wall was all-but destroyed. He dropped the rifle, having no time to reload it, and started firing both pistols. Some of the bullets connected, and samurai – some unseen – went down. There was shouting, but it was garbled to him, between his splitting headache and his limited auditory talents. One did make it close, but Sanjuro was ready, and took him down with an upward cut, then pushed his dying body onto the pile.

"Reload," Geoffrey said as the smoke began to settle. Sanjuro was a quick learner and pistol bullets were not hard to replace, but the rifle was more complicated. Geoffrey had to do it himself.

"They're regrouping," Sanjuro said. Geoffrey couldn't see him; it took all of his abilities to focus on the rifle, which was his main concern. "They're confused as to how many we are. These samurai aren't used to guns."

"Is that what they're shouting?"

"Yes. Wait." He paused and listened. "They are saying they will spare our lives if we stop firing."

"Do we have any reason to trust them?"

Sanjuro was grim. "Absolutely not."

Geoffrey nodded slowly and painfully. "Ask them if they'll rescind the order to execute the villagers."

Sanjuro called out that very thing, but it was all so distant to Geoffrey. He did, however, get another bullet in the rifle during the exchange, and it was worth it just for that.

"They say they would be disobeying the shōgun's orders, but they will save your life, your child's life, and the life of any of your attendants."

"Including you, I suppose."

"That is the implication."

"But the villagers will still die?" He took a deep breath. "Ask them to clarify. I need a moment."

Sanjuro did just that, and Geoffrey got his hands to stop shaking. "That's what they say, Jeffrey-san."

"Tell them I am okappiki, and it is my duty to defend these villagers with my life."

Sanjuro shouted, and Geoffrey readied his rifle, and set the pistols up so he could grab them again.

"They've refused."

He sighed. "Then we wait."

The samurai did not keep them waiting long.

* * *

While Geoffrey hadn't specified where to go, from the conversations he briefly overheard the night before, Danny had a suspicion that Mugen believed he was to fight Sir Kogi at the shrine. Unfortunately Danny and Alison went out the back door, and the shrine was on the other side of the road and down a ways. "Don't make a sound," he said as they ducked in the grass. They could see men with banners on the road, even if they weren't distinct. "Sa! All right, we'll have to go around somehow."

They would have to go far enough up the road to cross it where it was empty, even if it meant up to the highway. He darted into the woods. Alison was surprisingly light on his back. "Is Papa going to be all right?"

"He's one of the bravest men I know, Alison. If anyone can survive, it's your father," he said, kneeling for rest in the shade of the woods.

"Oi! You!"

He cursed under his breath and turned around. "Who goes?"

Just his luck. It was one of the castle-town samurai, probably on his way to make a "village visit" to a whore. Danny backed away, but did not draw his swords. Maybe he would be friendly. "You! I know you!"

He forced a smile. "I am rather distinct, I admit."

"The daimyo put a price on your head – so high he hired out some Choshu samurai. Can you believe he passed us over? Just because we fought your sister and lost – "

"Cousin, actually."

"Right." He eyed him. "You running somewhere, gaijin?"

"N-No. Just, out for a walk." He set Alison down.

Neither of them spoke, just eyed each other, and there were sounds in the distance – and not normal village sounds. The samurai looked towards Imbe, and back at Danny. "You're running."

"Please don't get in my way," he said, contemplating running. No, with an extra load, the samurai might catch him. He was a young man.

"Or what? I could use the prize money, if I could bring your head back to the daimyo!" He drew his sword. "You know, I don't like it when foreigners come in and make a fool of me in front of the daimyo. Do you think I want to slit my belly for him?"

"No. Please, I don't want any trouble – "

He raised his sword and got into stance. "Are you wearing a daisho or not? Draw!"

Danny did so, and turned to Alison. "Do you know the way to the shrine?"

She nodded.

"Then go. Run as fast as you can."

"But – Papa said – "

"To go to your mother. Now go. Go!" He gave her a last pat on the head and she took off running. Fortunately, the samurai didn't follow her, but stayed with Danny. "I don't want to fight you."

"You don't want to or you can't?"

He could, maybe, beat this samurai. He hadn't been training for nothing.

_There is nothing so terrible as taking a life, no matter how unavoidable or necessary it was. As someone who has killed, unintentionally, many a patient, I can testify to that. Do not do anything that would haunt you in the dark hours of the night. _

His father's words always haunted him, long after he discarded the letter. He looked at this cheeky young samurai – what was he to him? Certainly killing him would be in self-defense, if he even succeeded. Was this the face that would haunt him back in England, in his four-poster bed and white sheets and manservant to put out the candle? He didn't want it to be.

He raised his sword and moved in for an obvious downward cut to the left. It was blocked, because the samurai wasn't a fool, but that was what Danny meant to happen. He was really aiming for the blade instead, and waiting for it to be there. He hit it hard, and made a sizable dent on the blunt side with his cutting edge, but his real reason was that with their blades locked, he pushed him. More accurately, he stepped back and as he had seen Georgie done so many times, he kicked him in the stomach. Maybe it wasn't with the same acrobatic fitness, but it worked. The samurai let loose a stream of curses, but when he got to his knees, Danny reversed his sword so the unfinished side was facing his opponent, and struck him in the face, pushing him back.

"This is what you call fighting?" the samurai said.

"No," he replied, and hit him again with the unfinished end, enough to stun him, giving Danny the time he needed to push him with the back end of his hilt – right down the steep slope behind him. "But you're certainly being beaten."

The samurai grabbed a branch to slow his descent, but in doing so, lost his sword. Danny ran down the hill, grabbing it as he did. He put away his own blade and raised the samurai's as if it were his own. At the bottom of the hill was a little valley, and the samurai rolled to his feet, drawing his short sword. "You think this is a game?"

"No. Death is not a game, and I don't want to play it," he said. His voice was different, removed. He held the sword like a spear, with the point lowered to the ground, and the unfinished end again facing the samurai. "Come if you want."

"And destroy my own blade?"

"I said, 'if you want'."

The samurai growled and swung much higher, but Danny caught it with the back of the other samurai's blade and swung it away. While the samurai went spinning, he hit him right between the eyes with the back end of the hilt, and the samurai toppled over, unconscious.

Danny looked at the blade, which was dented. He knew it could not be repaired; a new one would have to be made. He tossed it next to the unconscious samurai and started back up the hill.

The only thing that would haunt him would be the funny expression on the samurai's face when he was bonked in the head, and Danny Maddox was fine with that.

...Next Chapter - Demon in the Wilderness


	42. Demon in the Wilderness

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

**Author's Notes:** The book of the first two stories is now available in stores and online. If you want to buy it, you won't be hugely surprised about the plot, but there will be less spelling errors. Well, Sourcebooks made a few of their own. Either way it is my intention to keep my fanfic up and online for free as long as I can. If you choose to review it on Amazon, please do not post spoilers for future stories, as the future books have not been bought by Sourcebooks. This book only covers the first two stories in the series. Thank you!

* * *

Chapter 42 - Demon in the Wilderness

Alison Darcy didn't know a lot of things, but there was one thing she did know: she was lost.

She told Cousin Danny she knew the way to the shrine because he was scared, and Papa always said nice things when _she_ was scared, so she told him the answer that made him happy. Only when she ran away, deeper and deeper into the woods, did it occur to her that it might have been a mistake.

She wanted to stay with Papa, but she couldn't. She wanted to stay with Cousin Danny, but she couldn't. She wanted to find Mama, but she couldn't. And now she was all alone, and her feet were cold in the wet grass, and everything wasn't so neat and pretty anymore. It was cold and scary. She didn't like this place, but she couldn't go back – and she didn't even know _how_.

"Mama!" she cried. "Mama! Mugen-san!" Admitting defeat, she said, "Cousin Danny! Help me!"

They didn't come. They always came when she cried, but they didn't. They left her all alone. She looked up and screamed. The rock had a scary face carved into it. She started running until she found the road, but she tripped, and fell into the leaves. Her leg was bleeding and it hurt. It was the worst pain ever. Mama could make it better, but Mama wasn't here.

"Little demon? Why are you crying?"

She was huddled on the ground, clutching her leg, and she hadn't seen him. She didn't know him, but she couldn't help but look up. It was a man in a shiny yellow gown, and wearing the funniest little box hat on his head. It was much too small for him! He had to keep it on with a rope that was tied under his chin!

"See? I got a smile out of you." He knelt beside her. "You don't look like a demon to me."

"I'm not."

"I know because demons don't cry. Or, I heard that they don't. If you were, you would be the first demon I met that cried."

She had nothing to wipe her tears on. The man offered her a silk piece of cloth, and she wiped it against her face. It was so warm and pretty. "Thank you."

"Demons don't say 'thank you,' either. I guess you're just an ordinary girl."

"I am!" she said. "But I don't know who you are, and I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

He laughed. He had a happy face. Some of the Japanese did not have happy faces, but he did. "Well, then I won't be a stranger to you, and you won't be a stranger to me! My name is Ayahito. What's yours?"

"Alison." She didn't want to let go of his cloth, even though she got it all wet. It was so pretty and he hadn't asked for it back yet. "Your name is very hard."

"So is yours! Ali-san."

"Alison."

"Ali-soon."

"Alison."

"Now say my name!"

She smiled. "Ayahito!"

"Very good." He had a nice laugh, too. "Now tell me, Alison, why were you crying?"

"I'm lost," she said.

"You don't know the way to town?"

She shook her head. "I have to find Mama."

"Mama? Your mother, you mean?"

She nodded furiously.

"Do you know where she is, even if you don't know the way?"

"She's at the shrine, but I don't know the way. She went with Mugen-san to fight Sir Kogi."

"Your mother went to fight?"

She smiled. "Mama is a great warrior. She beat up all the daimyo's samurai."

"Ah, so that is the legendary tengu of Imbe! Your mother! Imagine that." He stood up. "Well, Alison, I will have to take you to her. I would very much like to meet her."

"Do you know the way to the shrine?"

"No, but I'm sure someone else does, and we'll ask together, why don't we?"

She remembered she wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, but Ayahito wasn't a stranger. He was Ayahito. He offered his hand, and she took it, and they walked together, back to the road.

* * *

When the next wave came at Geoffrey and Sanjuro, it was much like the last one, but longer, and more exhausting. Geoffrey's rifle took the first man down, and the pistol took several others, but they kept coming, leaping right over the bodies of their fallen comrades. The closer they came, the more likely his aim would be true, and bullets were not things to waste, but it was all very dangerous. One of them managed to get a swipe at him before Sanjuro pushed him out of the way and finished him off. Finally there was silence, followed by hacking.

"Sanjuro," Geoffrey said. "Are you all right?"

"No," he said between coughs, "still slowly dying." He just spit the blood onto the floor now, not having the energy to cover it up anymore. "Did they stop?"

"Yes, for now."

Sanjuro crawled over to him. His blade was bloodied, and so was his hand. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Jeffrey-san."

"Neither do I." He looked at the bullet piles, but couldn't focus on them. He was still too disoriented from the last assault. "How many are there?"

"Let me see – one, two – seven – uh, enough for another round."

He had to make those bullets, with metal he brought to Japan and an iron tool. It wasn't easy, but he was grateful that he did it. "Reload."

They were slower. He tried to get the powder in several times, and spilled a good deal before he managed to properly set up the rifle. He could barely focus on anything. The only reason he was succeeding in hitting them was because they were so large and came so close to him. Sooner or later, one would get close enough. "Sanjuro?" He realized he hadn't heard from him in some time, but he didn't have the strength to turn his head. "Sanjuro-san?"

"Oi, I'm here." The voice was weaker than before. Geoffrey wondered if Sanjuro was capable of getting up again, but didn't want to ask. "Can you do the other pistol this time?"

"Yes." Slowly but surely, he managed to get all of the self-made bullets into the proper slots, good for one more round – depending on how well he hit, and how many there were. "We couldn't – we couldn't have killed them all, could we?"

"Sa, I wish." Sanjuro braced himself and put his ear to the floor. "I hear movement."

"Shit."

"I know."

Geoffrey chuckled. "This will definitely be the strangest way a Darcy ever died."

"What?"

"My family. The Darcys."

"Does your father have other sons?"

"No, just me. Unlucky for him, right?"

Sanjuro laughed. "Very unlucky."

There was something so bizarre about that miserable space where the air smelled of gunpowder and blood, where they knew they were going to die. In a way, it released them from so many things. All of their other obligations beyond the next wave seemed so distant.

"Movement," said Sanjuro, who was so much better at being aware of things than him. "Here's your gun." He put the pistol in his hands. Geoffrey set it to the side, and took up his rifle.

He took Sanjuro's hand and shook it. "It's been a pleasure serving with you, Sanjuro-san."

"What?"

"It's just ... something I think soldiers say to each other, in my country, before they are about to die."

"Oh." He shook his hand back. "It's been a pleasure serving with you, Jeffrey-san."

They got into position. More accurately, Geoffrey stayed where he had sat for what must have been hours now and waited, while Sanjuro positioned himself to jump the person who came over the ever-increasing wall of bodies.

The men came in what was close to a line, so Geoffrey didn't have time to wait until they got close. He fired his rife as soon as he saw the first person in the distance, and it seemed to hit enough to drop him. He dropped the rifle and picked up the pistols, trying to take aim this time, but they were coming so fast, and he couldn't afford a mistake. He fired left and right, and more bodies fell, except for the one right in front of him.

"Bonzai!" Sanjuro shouted, leaping to his feet. He cut down the man on Geoffrey's side, then the one in front of him, then another before they finally circled him and one of them cut him. Sanjuro staggered back, clutching the wound in his stomach, and another stabbed him in the back, then pushed him off his blade.

Geoffrey fired, and shot the man who'd stabbed Sanjuro. The next bullet was just a click. He was tapped dry. He dropped one of his pistols, and crossed himself. "Sanjuro." He sighed as they approached, their swords pointing at him. "Georgie, Alison, I'm so sorry. Forgive me."

"Make way!"

"Make way for who?" said one of the samurai in the back, but he was shoved aside by another samurai who was dressed differently. He was in full armor, with brightly-colored lacing and a helmet with gigantic horns. He blew into what looked like a seashell, and all of the samurai looked at them, even though they kept their sword tips at Geoffrey's throat.

"Make way! Make way! Make way for His Majesty!" The armored samurai with the shell horn took his spear and waved it at the samurai. "Get down! Heads down!"

_His Majesty?_ _Who in the world could that refer to? _He didn't think King George was in such good health, much less interested in saving him. Otherwise, he was going to owe Frederick a _huge_ favor.

The samurai moved away and bowed, but he kept his pistol up, even though it was empty. The armored samurai stepped forward. "Clear the away!" He stepped over the bodies, and suddenly there were dozens of men in colored armor moving the bodies away and shoving the attacking samurai aside to do it. The horned one stood over Geoffrey. "Put your gun down."

Geoffrey dropped it. It came as a great relief to his arm. "Please, be careful with the one who's not Choshu. He's my friend."

"You shouldn't worry about the dead, foreigner."

He laughed. "I can't see, I can barely hear, and I can't move. What else am I supposed to do but worry about the one friend I can see, dead or not?"

The samurai was looking him over. He didn't have to look up to tell that, nor could he. "Put your head down. Bow before the emperor."

"I – am not sure what I'm hearing, but I won't argue." He was dead, anyway. He pushed himself off the wall, so he was leaning on his knees, and fell forward. His stomach lurched, but he managed not to make a further mockery of himself by keeping himself together. Lying on the floor, he was able to rest, and had the energy to focus his eyes. To his shock, they'd taken away not only the bodies, but also the bloody mats beneath them, and were rolling out new ones.

"What was your friend's name?" said the armored samurai. It was so distant. Geoffrey couldn't turn to see him. "We found his body."

"Sanjuro-san."

"It will be noted."

"Thank you." He didn't have the energy to say anything else. He didn't have the energy to move. He closed his eyes, and drifted off.

* * *

"Stay awake," Georgie said, "you promised, and I won't let you break your promise."

Mugen did not respond. He had not responded in a while, but he was still breathing, and that was a good sign. She could have made better time, but she was exhausted herself, and the added weight of Mugen meant she was walking very slowly. "What's this?" She reached the road, having taken the long way around the shrine instead of ascending and descending the stairs, to find armored samurai on the road, and dozens of attendants. "Is there a war?"

She was surrounded by men with spears. She drew her sword, and flailed it uselessly. "Make way! I have a wounded man and I need a doctor!"

They did not make way. They formed a tight circle, making escape impossible. She quickly tired herself out by swinging herself around to find some way of exit, and dropped to her knees, her hands on the ground. "Please. This man is my sensei, and I must get him to a doctor."

There was some noise behind them. "You are the one called the demon tengu?"

"That's not my name, but people have called me that," she said. "My _name_ is Darcy Jorgiana, and I am looking for Dr. Ogata."

"You've been in battle. Where are the dead?"

She didn't have time for this! "Behind the shrine, I killed Sir Kogi."

The men backed off. Not enough for her to escape, but there was a visible retreat. "Sir Kogi?" one of them whispered.

"Hai, Sir Kogi, Captain of the Assassins. He came to kill my sensei, who committed no great crime, and I killed him. Now will someone please let me see a fucking doctor?"

The samurai in front of her separated, making way for their superior, who was dressed in even fancier armor and had a much larger hat. "That can be arranged."

* * *

Danny Maddox knew he had made a mistake when he came to the shrine only to find a very confused priest surrounded by guards – specifically, fully-armored samurai, complete with flags. On any other occasion, it would have been a grand sight.

"Him!" the priest said, pointing to Danny. "That is one of the foreigners."

They turned and with great precision pointed their spears at him. "Please put down yours swords, sir."

He removed his daisho and set both swords on the ground in front of him. "What do you want of me?"

"You will see."

"Wait – nothing is to happen to the priest. He doesn't know me!"

"Of course not. Nothing will happen to him." One of the samurai grabbed him by the arm and pulled him. "Come along."

* * *

"Get up!"

It was not an order Geoffrey could comply with. He felt like a planet was weighing down on his head, to say nothing of the rest of his body, which was exhausted. No, he preferred to stay where he was.

When the voice did not get a response, two pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him to his knees. He swallowed the bile. "Please," he begged. "I can't – stay steady." He reached and pulled the earplug from his ear, stuffing it back in his kimono sleeve. He'd opened his eyes, but they couldn't focus.

There was some mumbled talk, and someone put a box behind him, so he could lean against it. They lifted him, and put a pillow under him, and positioned him so he was sitting respectfully, giving the illusion that he had any ability to assume the position himself. Someone put a cup of tea in front of him while another held his head back so he could drink without putting effort into it. "Thank you," he said, surprised at how weak his voice was, and put his effort into focusing his eyes on what was in front of him.

They were in the main room of the magistrate's complex, only a foot or so beyond where he had been sitting before, seeing as how the wall to Alison's room was now utterly gone. The mats were all replaced with new ones, and not only that, but a lush red carpet was laid out before him, stretching to the doorway. He could see his guns and his jutte by the door, laid out very neatly, and beside them, Georgie's sword and Danny's daisho set. And there was Mugen's sword ... what was happening?

In despair, he turned to his left, a great act that earned him the vision of Georgiana, unconscious on the mat beside him. "Georgie!" Her back and most of her front was soaked in blood, and she had a bandage around her arm, and she mumbled in response to his call, but did not fully wake.

"They gave her some medicine," said the man now in front of him. He didn't recognize him at all. The man was wearing wide black robes, and a black box on his head tied there with string. He was carrying a long black fan, used mainly as a pointer. "It makes one sleepy, but it dulls pain."

"How badly is she injured?"

"Not badly. Only the wound on her arm. The blood is the criminal's?"

"...Mugen? I-Is he dead?"

"No, Jeffrey-san, but he is very close to death. He is badly wounded."

"Sir Kogi?"

"I have been told that the man she identified as Sir Kogi is dead, sir. I cannot tell you if it is actually him at this time."

They brought a hot tray of something and put it beneath Georgie's nose, and it served to wake her enough to get her in a sitting position, though she didn't seem all that aware of her surroundings, because she wasn't questioning everything. She sat there in a daze.

"Georgie," he said, and she looked at him, but did not verbally respond.

With great effort, he turned his head away from her and to the right, because he noticed there was some movement there. Danny, tied up and shamefaced, was made to sit on the cushion beside him. "I told Alison to run, when I was facing a samurai," he said, in answer to Geoffrey's first question. He bowed his head. "I don't know where she is, but they're not killing anyone anymore. Someone will find her. Forgive me."

"All right," was all he said. He couldn't really forgive him at this moment, too distracted by too many things. He needed to turn his head again as they cut Danny's bonds but told him to stay put. "Georgie's drugged. They said it was for pain."

"Oh."

"Make way! Make way!"

There was activity in front of them, and Geoffrey put his effort into being able to see it. Six men entered, two by two, and then each turned and assumed a position on one side of the carpet, facing each other.

"All hail His Majesty, The Emperor Ninkō-tennō!"

Only Danny did that on his own; Georgie and Geoffrey had to be forced into a more bowed-head position as the door was opened, and a gigantic, beautiful palanquin was brought up to the door. The door of the palanquin slid open, but a red screen prevented any real look at the man behind it.

"All hail the Emperor!" the six attendants repeated.

Slowly the three of them mumbled, "All hail the Emperor." It was a pathetic attempt, really.

The figure that emerged was not the emperor. They didn't know what the emperor looked like, but they could be fairly certain it wasn't him. Alison Darcy, her old kimono covered by a very beautiful over-kimono, stepped out from behind the screen and onto the carpet. "You did it! Ayahito, you did it."

"I do my best," said the voice behind the screen.

Alison ran forward, past the attendants, not stopping to bow at any of them. "Mama! Papa! Cousin Danny!"

Geoffrey, who was more aware than Georgie, opened his arms and she fell into them. "Alison." He squeezed hard, to make sure she was there. For the first time in what seemed like a month, his head didn't hurt as much. "I missed you so much."

"Alison?" Georgie said in her slurred voice, and Geoffrey released her so she could run to her mother's arms. Fortunately it seemed that some attendant had placed a new jacket over Georgiana, hiding her bloodstained shirt, though her hair was still the wrong shade of red. "Alison?"

"Mama! I was looking for you and I couldn't find you, and I was so scared!"

"My baby." From her voice, Georgie, was obviously beginning to cry. "You found me. I'm right ... I'm here."

"I was all alone because Cousin Danny had to save me from this samurai and he told me to run, so I ran, but I didn't know where I was going, and it was cold, and then I met Ayahito, and he said he would take me to you, and he did! And now he wants to meet you!"

"Who ... who is Ayahito?" Geoffrey asked the closest attendant.

"Ayahito is the childhood name of Emperor Ninkō, Jeffrey-san."

"Oh." He wasn't sure he had the brainpower to process that, so he just nodded, even though it was quite a painful nod. "Is that so?"

...Next Chapter - His Majesty


	43. His Majesty

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

**Author's Notes:**We're reaching the end of the story (6 more chapters or so to go), so I sped up the posting a little, mainly because I don't like leaving cliffhangers. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 43 – His Majesty

"The first question I must ask," said the emperor, nearly invisible behind the screen, "is how this child came to be abandoned in the woods."

Geoffrey was too slow to respond. Danny bowed and said, "Your Majesty, please allow me to explain. Georgie-san, Alison's mother, left very early this morning to help her sensei fight Sir Kogi, who was here to execute him. She left before the arrival of the samurai. We didn't know where she had gone until the ninja who had been hiding among us as a servant attacked and wounded Geoffrey-san to the point where he could not be moved quickly enough to escape. Sanjuro-samurai, who fought valiantly for us, was also ill and could not run quickly, so I was given the task of getting Alison to safety." He bowed his head. "On the way to the temple I was attacked by a samurai from the castle-town and told Alison to flee so that she would be spared. By the time I defeated him, she was gone. I beg forgiveness for my failure."

"Ah, I see," he said. "And I am told you are her cousin?"

"Hai, Your Majesty."

"Her parents seem inclined to forgive you, because they have not denounced you yet."

Geoffrey looked at Alison, still buried in her mother's arms, and back at the emperor. "Forgive me." He did not bow. He couldn't bear it. He needed the box to lean on. "I am distracted ... by my injuries." He was still having problems seeing clearly. "I do not understand what is happening, but I am grateful to have my daughter returned."

"Then allow me to explain," replied the emperor. "You are aware that foreigners being permitted to travel in the country is extremely unusual. When my Minister of the Right informed me of the shōgun's decision to send you to the countryside for the purposes of Dutch learning, I told him to follow the news from the shōgun's court – which he did to perfection. It was through him that I learned that the spy the shōgun had assigned to your caravan was ninja, and told to gather information against you if the situation soured.

"A month ago, the daimyo of Bizen Province sent letters to various members of the bakafu court pleading their assistance, with this meddlesome tribe of foreigners, and offering a reward. Unfortunately you had the shōgun's vow of protection, and the reward had to go fairly high with a promise of over 200 kokus of rice before the Choshu clan dared to get involved. They managed to persuade the shōgun that your acts were seditious, but also that he would lose face if he publicly revoked the order, and that they should be sent quietly to retrieve you and execute those who harbored you. He must have been fairly drunk, because he agreed, but did not tell your relatives living in Edo.

"I had no political sway in this area, but I decided that if I was ever to see the foreigners I had been hearing so much about, I would have to go on my own. Unfortunately, I am not permitted to leave my court in Kyoto, so I put a double in my place and dressed as a palanquin bearer for one of my concubines, who have a bit more freedom than I do. I have done this a few times, and though my ministers warned against it, I performed a ritual of good luck and left, with the real palanquin bearer dressed up and riding inside.

"The extent to which Sir Kogi was involved is unknown to us, but we are still interrogating the remaining Choshu samurai that attacked you. He is not Choshu, but he may have heard of their attack, as he was present in court at the time, and planned accordingly. I was worried we would miss it all, so we took a shortcut on a small path, and that was when I spotted Alison-chan, lost in the woods and very upset. I could see her from far away, with such a distinctive look against the green background, so I halted the palanquin and went to meet this legendary character. She begged me to help her find her mother, and how could I refuse a crying child? I have twelve of my own! Fortunately we arrived in time to stop the fighting, as you can see, and collect you all." He said something to his attendant, who leaned closer to the screen and whispered to him. "I see you are all very tired and some of you are injured, so I will leave you to rest now, and in time, we will discuss this further."

The attendant closed the door of the palanquin and there were a few more "All hail the Emperor!"s before there was real movement. Alison ran back to her father as two female attendants began to help Georgie to her feet.

"Stop," he said with what remained of his strength, grabbing Georgie's limp hand. "This is my wife. Please don't take her from me."

"Sir, we only wish to wash her. It is important for her health that she is clean before she rests."

"Then you will return her to me."

"As you wish, Jeffrey-san."

He released her hand and Georgie was carried away. He heard Danny on his right. "Are you injured?"

"Not a lot worse than I was when you left."

"You should rest. I'll take Alison." He added, "I won't lose her this time."

"You did it to protect her. I understand." He kissed his daughter. "Go with your cousin for a little while. Papa has to rest."

"You won't go anywhere?"

He smiled. "I promise."

* * *

In his favor, Geoffrey was unaware of his surroundings after they gave him the brew. It tasted foul, but it helped him fall into a deeper sleep than he could remember, freeing him from an abominable headache associated with trying to keep his eyes in one spot when his head was spinning, or the ringing in his ear from the constant gunshots and sounds of battle. He wanted to lie down and stay in that quiet place for a while, and he did.

When he woke, he was entirely unaware of the passage of time. He was wearing a clean robe and on a mattress, but his head was on a box with a pillow on it. The light in the room was low, and only lit by lamps, so his eyes were not as strained. The ringing persisted, and he reached up to his ear, but someone grabbed his hand. He recognized Georgie's voice, but the words were garbled. "Speak louder. This damn ringing ..."

She appeared over him. "Don't move," she said, and this time he heard it. She smiled at him, then broke down into giggles, covering her mouth.

"What? What is it?"

"You look like a porcupine."

He looked down, and found needles in his other arm, sticking up on the skin. There were a few in his legs. "I don't feel them."

"Good, because there are about a dozen in your head."

She was there for him when he panicked, and held him down. "Don't. Dr. Ogata was very specific with those instructions."

"He told you? How long was I out?"

"Just a bit longer than I was. I would say it's almost morning now." She held the hand that wasn't needled and placed it on his chest, with her hand over it. "Danny's asleep for all the normal reasons, and so is Alison. Do you want to see her?"

"Can I nod?"

"If you don't feel a sharp stick," she said, smiling at his scowl. She held his face and slowly turned him to the left, so he could see their daughter on her own mattress, curled up so peacefully with her stuffed animal. Slowly, Georgie turned him back.

"What about Mugen?"

This time she did not smile. "We don't know yet. He's in a bad state. The doctor doesn't know how he's still alive, but he is. I was going to go sit with him, but I wanted to wait until you woke."

He nodded, with success. "Thank you. What happened with Sir Kogi?"

"We both fought him, but he was too powerful, so Mugen took a hit to distract him, and I killed Sir Kogi. It wasn't precisely what I agreed to, but it worked."

"He said ... He said for me to tell you that he only left you angry because he thought maybe you wouldn't chase after him in the morning if you were angry. He wanted you to live because he loved you."

She squeezed his hand and looked away. "I know. He thought he was going to die, and I was so cruel to him."

"He knew what your reaction was going to be when you found out, if you did. We both did. We knew you would try to save him, and we couldn't risk that. It seems we were wrong in that department, but I wasn't willing to take the risk." He added, "I'm sorry."

"Did he tell you?"

"In all fairness, I overheard him talking to Sanjuro-san about it, and Mugen talked me down from saying anything to you. Can you forgive me?"

"Eventually." But she smiled, meaning the 'eventually' was merely her old humor returning. He felt like hadn't seen it in months. Some very long, tiring months.

"Is your head still spinning?"

"I would nod, but ..."

"It will pass." She kissed him. "Maybe faster this time, Sir Porcupine."

"No matter how short the time, I do not prefer it as a zoo animal."

He couldn't hear it, but he was sure she laughed. "Do you mind greatly if I go to Mugen while you rest?"

"I mind some, but not enough to withhold my consent," he said. "Wish him well for me. I am currently occupied."

She kissed him again, and disappeared, wrapping another kimono around herself. He reassured himself that everyone was safe, dared to turn his head to see his daughter one last time, then allowed himself to drift off again.

* * *

Georgie watched as the priest replaced the incense that had burned down and relit them. They were set up high enough on a shelf so that the smoke would drift out the doorway and not bother the sleeping patient. Mugen lay still on the mattress, his upper body exposed and wrapped tightly in bandages. There were some needles sitting on the top layers of his skin, but not nearly as many as Geoffrey.

"Mugen," she whispered, stroking his wild hair. "You promised me you would try to live. Please come back."

"He must be trying," Dr. Ogata said, "or he wouldn't be here at all."

"Make way! Make way!"

The attendants entered the room and immediately began setting up a little tent of red silk, which could only mean one thing. It was right at one of the doorways, so the emperor could walk right into it and be seated, and they all bowed to the man behind the screen.

"All hail His Majesty!"

"All hail His Majesty," they repeated, and the priest was allowed to get up and continue his prayers.

"Who is this man?" the emperor said to his advisor, the one in black with the black square hat.

"I am told his name is Mugen, Your Majesty. He is probably near forty, maybe fifty years of age, and was convicted of six counts of a minor crime, though obviously, it would be nearly impossible to trace the records of them."

"And this is the man Sir Kogi came to kill?"

"Apparently, Your Majesty."

The emperor waved him back. This was at least partially visible. "Jorgi-san. I understand you are his student."

She faced the tent and bowed to the floor. "Hai, Your Majesty."

"I have confirmed that the body of the man you killed was Sir Kogi. I have seen him enough times before. If the two of you were able to defeat him, that is truly impressive. I wish to know more of this man, your sensei."

"Of course, Your Majesty." She began a very abbreviated version of Mugen's life story as she knew it. She left out his real name but said how he came to be convicted of his crimes and then to escape to China. She left out his murder of the samurai, or the murders that followed. She did not give specific names concerning the monastery, or mention Miyoshi, but she did explain how she met him, and tried to sum up why she had come so far and put her family in so much danger to see him again. The emperor listened with great attention, asking her to elaborate on some things and leaving other obvious omissions alone. He asked her how she killed Sir Kogi, and she explained Mugen's sacrifice.

"That does not tell the story," he said. "I saw the body of Sir Kogi, as I am one of the only people here who can identify him. There was not a mark on him, and yet I am to understand his bones were shattered." When she hesitated in her response, he added, "It is said that Sir Kogi was a master of an ancient art of no-blade, which many consider to be nothing short of magic, and that was why he never lost a fight and was such an efficient assassin. It seems he lost once to your master, and then to you, so I must only assume that this man who lies before us carries with him some secret arts of his own. He brought them from China, did he not?"

She nodded. "He did, Your Majesty."

"Are there any other who study this art?"

"His master was the last, and he only passed it on to Mugen-sensei, as far as anyone knows. He refused to give it to the other monks and to the Shaolin, which is why they bribed the government to send Sir Kogi after him."

"Hmm." He waved his fan. "The study of martial arts is one of the few areas of scholarship from which I am discouraged, aside of course from foreign studies. Therefore my knowledge is limited, and I doubt I would understand if I did receive an answer, so I will not burden you with the question."

She was still bowed with her head on the ground, or else she would have gone lower. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"That he did not offer this wisdom to a Japanese student is a bit insulting, but you said he is from Ryūkyū?"

"Hai, Your Majesty."

"Hmm. Then he is not truly Japanese, nor would I suspect he has been well-treated by my people since his arrival. He has a good reason to choose someone else. And obviously, it would require a very dedicated student. Tell me, does Mugen-san devote himself to any gods?"

The Emperor was a Shinto priest and said to be a descendant of the gods, so she didn't want to say what Mugen regularly told her. "His master was a devotee of the goddess Kwan Yin. Mugen's bracelet has her image on the charm."

"The goddess of compassion. A very good choice. He is a Buddhist, then?"

"He wouldn't say that. He is very private about his own beliefs, but I can say he believes in Nirai Kanai, because he told me he has been there several times."

"The realm of the gods! Then what is he doing back here?"

"He said he decided he didn't want to be there, and left."

He laughed. "Exceptional. I've never heard someone talk like that, but then again, people are normally very careful in what they say in my presence."

"I apologize, Your Majesty."

"You've done nothing wrong. I will say a prayer, so that his spirit will not leave this place."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." She was glad he could not see her face, or her tears. "And thank you for rescuing my daughter. I have not had a chance to say so."

"I will be honest. When I first saw her in the woods, I thought she was a spirit!" He chuckled. "Of course she was not, and I decided to do something useful for once, other than prayer. She told me all about you, and I did not believe a word of it until I came upon this town, and not a person has contradicted her story. Though, I doubt you would deny her a shamisen if she truly wanted one."

She smiled. "We did buy her one the night before this all happened, but did not have a chance to give it. I hope it wasn't destroyed in the battle."

"I will have my men search." He then proceeded with a long stream of prayers, none of which she recognized, and left. The attendants quickly removed the tent, and Georgie could get up.

"Your daughter truly has friends in high places," Dr. Ogata said.

"And she's good at getting what she wants out of them," she said, and turned her attention back to Mugen.

* * *

Geoffrey woke with some very insistent tugging, and finally shouting that could only have come from one source. "Alison. Are there needles in me?" He heard another voice, male, but it was too soft and garbled. "Forgive me – you'll have to speak up. There's this ringing in my ear."

"There are no needles in you!" Danny shouted. "They took them out!"

"You can be a bit softer than that," he said with a smile, "but thank you." He did not attempt to sit up. He knew he was in no condition to do so, though the room was at least beginning to slow down. He turned to his daughter, who was practically climbing onto him. "Papa is sore, but still very happy to see you. But you must talk loudly."

"Did you hurt your ear?" she shouted.

"Just a little." Without the earpiece, surely it would have been much worse. "Where is your mother?"

"With Mugen-san. I asked Ayahito and he said Mugen is very sick but he's going to pray for him?"

He turned to Danny, who was kneeling next to him. "Ayahito?"

"The emperor."

"Oh. Of course." Now he remembered. "Alison, I would like to talk with Cousin Danny for a bit. Do you have your toys?"

"Yes, we found them all!"

"Good. Stay where I can see you."

She was gone from his vision, but she would stay in the room now. He could focus on Danny. "How is everyone?"

"Georgie isn't seriously injured. She has a cut on her arm, but it was sewn, and her hand is bruised, but she seems to have come out all right. Mugen-san is very badly wounded. Apparently he was stabbed right in the chest, but somehow survived."

"He's Mugen," Geoffrey responded.

"Geoffrey, I'm truly sorry for letting Alison go. She said she knew the way, and I had to take her word for it. I know you trusted me to – "

"It's all right. You had to kill the samurai."

"I did not kill the samurai."

He was confused. "Oh?"

Danny bowed his head. "I broke his sword and I knocked him out, but I did not kill him. He was just one of the daimyo's men who thought he'd stumbled on a big reward. He didn't deserve to die for that." He frowned. "I know this doesn't sound right, but a samurai is someone who serves, and maybe protects. It doesn't mean I have to kill. If it does, I want none of it."

"You've decided?"

He nodded.

"Well, I cannot say you made a bad choice."

"You don't think me a coward?"

He shook his head, if very slowly. "My father always said that a coward is someone who takes the easy road, and you've never done that. If this is what you believe, you should stand by it." He added, "Your father would be proud."

Danny managed a sad smile. "Please tell me of Sanjuro-san."

"He died on the last wave. I would not have survived a single one without him. He was fighting to the very end, even when he could barely stand for both his illness and his injuries. In fact, excusing the fact that we were both very tired, I had never seen him more content than when he charged on the last of the samurai."

Danny said nothing.

"I asked someone that his body be found so that he can have a proper burial, and they did so. I will pay for his funeral myself." Geoffrey paused, trying to collect himself. "He said he was proud of you, and that he never thought you a coward, even if you did. He told me to tell you that."

Danny removed his glasses so he could wipe his eyes. "Truly?"

"Can you not imagine him saying that? You knew him."

"Hai," Danny said. "I am proud to have known him."

"Me, too."

...Next Chapter - Little Ookami


	44. Little Ookami

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 44 – Little Ookami

Slowly but surely, Danny caught Geoffrey up on the events that had transpired around them. The remaining Choshu samurai were captured and interrogated. They begged to commit seppuku rather than face their clan leader, and were granted permission to do so. Their bodies were buried quickly, and the samurai and attendants of the emperor put up barriers around the area of the magistrate's complex and let no one through without approval. Officially, the emperor was not in town – how could he be? Any rumors to that effect would not be confirmed, nor would they be believed later. The daimyo was not sent for, and was keeping conspicuously quiet about the whole matter.

"Somehow it got out to the townspeople, what you did for them," Danny said. "I mean that you chose to die for them. It seemed they really didn't expect that of you. They've been leaving you gifts. There's a gigantic pile of them in one of the storerooms. And I heard from the priest that they've put up so many prayer cards for our health that they've nearly weighed down the tree outside the shrine."

"Are any of them cow-shaped?"

That finally got a laugh out of Danny. "I'm afraid not."

"Damn! Well, one can always hope." He rubbed his eyes. "What about the magistrate?"

"He was buried properly, but no one has expressed their deep regrets at his passing. The daimyo will have to send a candidate approved to be the new magistrate, and they have not announced the interim magistrate yet."

"I know a wise samurai, but I don't know if he would take such an awful job. You remember that priest we met when we ate with the daimyo?"

Danny nodded. "I'll tell them."

"I suppose we should send a letter to Mr. Maddox and Her Highness, but at this point, I'm not sure what to say."

"Perhaps it can wait a day or two, until you're more recovered."

"Yes. Speaking of which, are they just going to give me medicine, or are they actually going to feed me?"

Geoffrey was surprised at how well he did sitting partially up, propped up by many pillows. They were very quick to produce a tray with dishes of hot food for him, far more than he could eat. Danny and Alison ate with him, but the real surprise was when Georgie returned.

"Mama!"

"Georgie," Danny and Geoffrey said at the same time.

She knelt at Geoffrey's side, kissed him, and then her daughter. "Mugen is the same."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"I suppose." She nodded to the servant, who set a tray in front of her. She exclusively used her right hand, leaning over to eat out of the bowls and letting her left hand rest on her lap. "Geoffrey, you look much better."

"I feel better. Perhaps there is something to needle-based medicine, as unpleasant a concept as it is." He finished off a rice ball. "Alison, did you see your Papa as a porcupine?"

"What's a porcupine?"

"It's an animal with spikes all over it," Georgie said. "There's one in the London Zoo. We'll have to take you sometime."

Geoffrey's heart jumped, and at first, he didn't know why. It took his addled mind a minute to realize that Georgie had mentioned their future in England, perhaps for the first time in months. He didn't push it or question it; he smiled and let it be.

* * *

While Geoffrey rested, Georgie and Danny began to go through their rooms, discovering what had not been damaged and what had been moved around by the various attendants to the emperor. Alison's room was all but destroyed, but her toy box was intact, so she had most of the things that were important to her. The dojo now housed various attendants and samurai.

"We only found this," one of the samurai, now unarmored, bowed to Georgie and held up a wooden bowl. It was filled with beads from Master Hyuu's juzu, with the broken string on top.

"Thank you," she bowed, and took the bowl. "He must have collected them in the morning, before he left to fight Sir Kogi." She picked out a single bead, holding it up. "What have I done? Mugen, what have I done to you?"

Her sudden outburst of tears confused the samurai, and Danny guided her back to his room, where she could weep in peace. "We can have it repaired," he said. "The beads aren't broken. It just needs a new string."

She could not stop herself from sobbing. "These are mine." She tightened her bruised hand around a few of them, an act painful on every level. "_These are mine_." She had lost something that could not be replaced, though she couldn't quite explain it. The losses came at her at once – Sanjuro, possibly even Mugen. She had come so close to losing her daughter, her husband, and her cousin, and she hadn't even known it, foolishly going off on her own to fight a selfish, dangerous battle while Geoffrey fought for his life.

"Georgie." Danny knelt beside her. "Everything came out all right. Mugen is still alive, Sir Kogi is dead, and Sanjuro died the way he wanted to. We could not have asked for a better outcome and expected it. And Geoffrey will recover."

She knew, but she could barely bring herself to nod.

"You'll see – it will all be fine."

She wiped her eyes, but it just kept coming. She swallowed. "Can you call for the priest?"

"Of course."

When Danny left, she went back into her own room, lay down on the mattress, and wept.

* * *

The shrine priest of Imbe arrived to find a grumpy Geoffrey enduring another round of acupuncture. "Ow!"

The emperor's healer said politely, "That is the ki jumping up to meet the needle, not its actual insertion. That was the hardest one."

"I know. It would be worse if my head wasn't already throbbing. Can you do something for that?"

"That is what the one on your knee is for."

"Whatever you say, Doctor."

The priest smiled and continued on his way. Georgie was waiting for him in their sitting room. Her eyes were red, but she seemed composed. "Please sit, O-priest-sama."

He did so. "I have brought as much as I could find." He produced from his bag strings of various colors, materials, and thickness. There was a tray between them, and a bowl filled with beads. "Ah, I see."

"I don't know how to tie them," she said. "I just remember how it was. The string was red, and it had a particular knot at the end."

"I believe I can reproduce it," he said, and seeing the relief on her face, dipped his hand in the bowl and produced a bead. "May I have some more light?" Even though it was day, this was delicate work, and she lit the lamp and set it beside him. "Ah, I see."

Together they selected a string that she seemed to prefer and also fit properly in the hole, and he tied off the end and began to string the beads back together. Some of them were damaged, either by age, use, or they had dents that looked new. As it was a broken set, he did not question how they came to be that way. "There is something here."

"What?"

He held up one of the beads very close to the light. "Writing."

"Is it Chinese?"

"No, I believe it is in Tibetan script. It is probably a prayer, or a dedication to Buddha." He showed her, then put it on as instructed. "This set is from Tibet."

"Master Hyuu was from Tibet."

"Ah, then that explains it. I have seen some of the art they use in their monasteries, and it is very decorative, at least in comparison to the Japanese style." When all of the beads were on, he counted them to be sure that they were all there, and asked her to describe the type of knot that closed the circle. After some failed attempts, he managed to create something that satisfied her. "Please allow me." He uttered a prayer, holding the beads in his hand, and passed them to her.

Oddly, she took them in her hands and pressed them to her forehead before winding them back around her arm.

"Oi. Where did you learn that?"

"Learn what?"

He held his hands to his head.

"I don't know." She was already very emotional; he wondered if he should probe further.

"I've heard it is a custom in some parts of the world," he said as casually as he could.

Somehow, she didn't seem surprised. "Oh." She changed topics. "Thank you, O-priest-sama. You have done me a great honor."

"I am only a servant of the Buddha."

"I know." She paused, her face went white, and she kneeled over, holding her head in her lap.

"Jorgi-san? Jorgi-san!"

* * *

_"Oi," Mugen said, facing his monastic opponent. He seemed unperturbed at the notion that there was a blade through his heart. "You can't kill me twice, can you?" He laughed, and pushed the monk away. When the sword came out of him, it did not draw blood. Only a black hole remained. Mugen, his hair grey, his face wrinkled, and wearing a cotton, white shirt with the buttons done incorrectly, smiled at her knowingly, even though she was so confused, and she took comfort in it._

* * *

"Jorgi-san!"

She picked her head up. "What?" Her voice had lost its strength, but she could feel it coming back. "What is it?"

The priest had swept aside the tray before them and was holding her shoulder, supporting her. "I thought you were ill."

"No, I – saw something." She shook her head, as if she could shake out her confusing thoughts. "It was Mugen, but he was older. Much older. And it was in England. He was speaking Japanese, but I'm still sure of it. He said something." She felt an intense desire not to share the rest of it with him, even though she didn't know where it came from. "I don't understand. Maybe my mind is just so focused on wanting him to live..." The Mugen she had seen was much older, but it was still him. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive."

"I should go ... and see him."

"You should have some tea first."

She nodded, and collected herself as tea was brought. She drank it quickly, feeling the hot liquid cascade down her throat, and rose to head into the next room, and check on her husband.

"Mama!" Alison said, running to her. Georgie was still too dizzy to lean over. "Papa says you should see him. You'll laugh."

She wasn't wrong. Geoffrey lay on the mattress, again with a head full of needles. "Hello."

"Hello, Geoffrey," she said, hiding her smile behind her hand. "Well, look at you. Should I get my sketchbook?"

"You'd better not."

"Aw, my grumpy husband. I would kiss you, but I don't want to get stuck."

"Ha_ha_." He noticed the priest. "Excuse me for not bowing, O-priest-sama, but you can see I am otherwise engaged."

"Of course." He bowed.

"Strange as it is, I do feel a bit like sleeping now," Geoffrey said. "Say hello to Mugen for me."

She nodded, and left him with Alison as his babysitter.

Mugen had his own room. The doctor was not there, but the emperor's healer was. He finished inserting the needles and moved into the corner. She knelt next to Mugen, taking his hand, and the priest behind her began his hypnotic prayers.

"Mugen-sensei," she said, and guided his hand to the beads. "I repaired them. I know you found them all for me. You must have known how many there were to find, after I made such a mess. And to think that was what you spent your last hours doing..." She choked back her tears. "I can't repay you. I can't say I'm sorry enough. I can't even get started if you don't wake up." She removed his bracelet and wrapped it around his hand, so the charm was pressing against his palm. Then she bowed her head and whispered, "I take refuge in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, until I attain Enlightenment."

"That's not ... how it goes."

"Mugen!" She had to stop herself from jumping on him like a little girl, reminding herself he was injured, and she was no longer a little girl. "Mugen." Her tears were not of sadness. His eyes weren't open, but that was definitely his voice, no matter how thin and weak it was. "Please say something."

"Already did," he mumbled, and opened his eyes just enough to prove that he could. The struggle was visible.

She took his hand and held it tight. "You kept your promise."

"Sa," he cursed. "And it hurts. Bad promise."

She laughed, letting the tears fall as they pleased. "I carried you back and the doctors didn't know how you were even alive. Why are you still alive, Mugen-san?"

He closed his eyes. "Why not?"

She found she could coax little else of him. The healer was quick with a drink for him, but he only had a few sips before he coughed and started hacking it back up. After that, his strength was gone. "My little ookami," he whispered, and then he was out again. She let his hand go limp in hers, and carefully set it back on the mattress.

* * *

"This is not funny and I will not stand for it," Geoffrey said. Nonetheless, Georgiana did not put down his notebook, in which she was sketching her prickly husband. "Just because I'm temporarily rendered an invalid does not mean I'm incapable of asserting myself."

"Apparently you are."

"Promise me you'll never show anyone this drawing."

She smiled. "I cannot promise that. It would be blatantly dishonest and I can't bring myself to be so with my adorable husband. Besides, it would be a shame to let years of art lessons go to waste."

"Yes, it truly would be." Despite her mocking, his mood was not entirely ill. As the ringing in his ears slowly disappeared, his (limited) hearing returned, and the mere fact that he could sit up on his own for short periods was an indicator of how quick his recovery would be. He was tempted – but not _that_ tempted – to inquire as to the method behind this Chinese puncture medicine.

Besides that, the highlight of his day was finally presenting Alison with their purchase in the castle-town. "A shamisen!" she squealed, and immediately began plunking the tiny strings to considerable effect. It was not necessarily a pleasant one, but it was considerable. The emperor laughed behind his screen.

"Perhaps we should get her an instructor," Georgie suggested.

"I'm not sure that it would make it better or worse," he groaned, but he could not stay irritated for long. His daughter's smile prevented that.

* * *

"Oi," Mugen said. The priest beside him, with his constant prayers, didn't hear him, nor did he think he could be heard. Mugen's nod was directed to the raven that settled on the post outside the open door. "You again? Leave me alone already."

He looked to his left, and the soldier standing next to him in ancient armor. "And you. Wasting your time. I made a promise, and I won't let anyone tell me when I'm going to die, not even you. I'll decide for myself."

He folded his arms and the bed turned upside down, as the priest became faded and the warriors more solid. Below, in the abyss, was not a frightening blackness but had a comforting fragrance. Here, the old gods didn't smell bad. Here, everyone could find rest, even the wanderer, without home and with so few connections to tie him to the living world. Somewhere, down there, were his parents, his friends, his lover, and all the answers he would ever need to the questions he had always carried with him. He would finally be unburdened.

"Sa! That does look nice." He smiled. "Maybe someday. I'll have something to look forward to for a change."

That alone was more than enough. He turned back over, the raven flew away, and he fell asleep to the humming of the priest.

...Next Chapter - Farmer Alison

* * *

Chapter Notes:

- "Ookami" means "wolf."


	45. Farmer Alison

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 45 – Farmer Alison

"Good," Georgie said with great relief and encouragement. "You're doing so well."

Geoffrey smiled at her, though he did not feel particularly _well_. With one arm braced against the wall, he could stand on his own, and even walk around their bedroom, which was really quite amazing, but he was never satisfied.

"I want to shave myself," Geoffrey announced as she helped him sit back down. He hadn't been particularly smooth-chinned before the attack, and several days had passed. The attendants, of course, offered their services.

"You let Mr. Reynolds shave you in England. I don't see what the big deal is." She kissed him, but she knew as well as he did that he wasn't steady enough for a straight blade. He couldn't focus on the mirror and the edge at the same time. "Do you want me to do it?"

"I only want to lose my hair, not my head."

"I'm capable of other things!"

He just grinned.

In the end, the attendants were just so polite about it that he did agree to be shaved after a long bath. The clothing they gave him was far more complicated than his usual kimono, and he needed help into it.

"You look beautiful," Georgiana said when she emerged from the dressing room, wearing the most beautiful kimono he had ever seen her in.

"I think that is supposed to be my line." He kissed her. "You ... _also_ look beautiful." He took the cane from the attendant, and began the slow walk to the common room. It was normally not a long walk, but he wanted to be ready to eat sitting up by himself.

As they entered, the emperor's attendant told them to bow, but Alison interrupted him. "Papa!" She raised her arms.

"Not now," Georgie said. "Besides, it would mess up your little obi there and I have no idea how to retie it."

She put a hand in her mouth and ran back to the red tent, slipping in between the curtains. She was the only one who could go back and forth like that, and had ever seen the emperor. They did bow, if very slowly, and took their seats in front of the trays. Danny was told to remove both his swords as he entered, and bowed to the emperor before joining them. Finally Alison came out and settled down beside her mother, and the emperor began to eat, and so they were told to begin.

Geoffrey smelled, and then tasted one bowl of chopped up things in a heavy sauce. "This is – I think this is meat!"

Danny tasted it. "It's pork. Definitely pork."

Geoffrey's response was to attempt to devour it whole. "You'll make yourself sick," Georgie said. She bowed to the emperor. "Excuse my husband."

Geoffrey put down the dish and pointed to Georgie's. "Are you going to eat that?"

"Is meat a delicacy in the West as well?" the emperor said.

"Quite the opposite. We live on a steady diet of it." Georgie rolled her eyes at her husband, who had already taken her dish. "Especially the men."

"Shinto has no problem with animals. If Buddhism had not come to Japan, we would raise more animals." The emperor was a Shinto priest, and could do as he liked in that regard. "The harmony of the two beliefs has also created our culture."

"Yes, I'm going to eat that!" Danny said to Geoffrey's stare at his tray. Fortunately, the attendants took the hint and brought out more meat dishes for all of them. Combined with the rice and very fine fish, it was their best meal since arriving in Japan. The occasion was a sort of celebration of their victory, as well as to the emperor, who could not dally in Imbe without being discovered.

"Jeffrey-san," the emperor said, "I understand your father is a daimyo in your country."

"He is, Your Majesty."

"And you are his oldest son?"

"His only son, sir."

"He was very brave to send you, then."

"He didn't," he said.

"Oh?"

He wiped his face and tried another dish. "My wife wanted to come to see her sensei, and I came with her. She could not have come if I didn't."

"And your father permitted this?"

"I am a free man, of adult age," he replied. "And I have money of my own. He could say little to stop me. However, I would not have left if he was not in good health and we had pressing matters at home."

"Why then, if you have loyalties to your family and your country, did you not give yourself up to the Choshu samurai? If my samurai had not intervened, you would not have survived."

Geoffrey nodded, which was as much of a bow as he could do at the moment. "The terms that were offered involved the slaughter of the people of Imbe."

"It is illegal to harbor foreigners, yes, but you were by no means obligated to give your life for them. It would be exceptional to expect it of you."

"They are my friends, and I am their okappiki. I could not have lived with myself if I turned my back on them," he replied. "I was raised to believe that every life is precious, and certainly worth saving."

"Even your lessers?"

"Yes, and I certainly hope my betters would say the same."

The emperor laughed. "The Buddha says to have compassion for all living things, even animals and birds."

"Well, we do have to be reasonable about it, too," Geoffrey said with a mouthful of food.

"And you, Jorgi-san – are you from the same clan as him?"

"Our mothers are sisters," she said.

"Was your marriage arranged?'

"No, though I understand our fathers had a bet on it."

"They did?" Geoffrey perked up. "Father never gambles!"

"He does with my father."

"I heard about it, too," Danny said. "My mother was talking about it. Five pounds."

"No!" Geoffrey sunk into his cushion. "I refuse to believe it!"

The emperor just continued to laugh, which made it worse. Alison neatly stacked up her half-empty dishes and ran into his tent again, much to the consternation of his attendants. "And what about your daughter? Have you arranged something for her?"

"No!" Geoffrey shouted. "No ... what I mean to say, Your Majesty, is that when it comes time, she may choose who she likes, as long as they're respectable."

"What if she wishes to marry a farmer? Or a leather-worker?"

"I like dirt!" Alison announced.

"You're not marrying a farmer," Geoffrey said.

"You don't know that," Georgie said. "She might go all Uncle Grégoire on us and marry a peasant."

Danny burst into laughter and nearly fell over, and Geoffrey's ears just burned. "She will not."

"Jeffrey-san, you are obligated to explain this to me, as it does interest me."

He swallowed. "I have an uncle who married a peasant from Ireland, which is not a respectable part of our empire. However, the man is a saint, and at times is too religious for his own good, and according to my father she's been good for him, so we do not find it objectionable."

"What he is trying to say is that Uncle Grégoire was always a bit crazy, so his father couldn't have been all that surprised," Georgie said with a bow, ignoring her husband's glare.

"Are there no restrictions in your country about marriage? Do you not need your parents' consent?"

"The woman needs her father's consent," Georgie said, "but there are ways around that, and enough people use them."

"Ha! So it is the same everywhere, I suppose. Love is a raging river, and is not so easily damned."

Through the screen, it was barely visible that Alison was tugging on his kimono. "Ayahito, are you married?"

"Of course I am! I have many consorts. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Where are they?"

"They are at home, with my court and my children."

"Did you ask permission before you left?'

The emperor was clearly flummoxed. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't think Mama would let my Papa go wherever he wanted without asking first!"

Georgie did her best to keep from rolling around on the floor in front of the emperor, and Geoffrey just stared at his tray.

"I think, little one, things are different in your country."

* * *

After the foreigners turned in, and things were quiet in the magistrate's house, the emperor moved about more freely, and waited outside the warrior's room for the tent to be set up. It was tiring, really, but it was protocol. He took a seat so he sat above everyone kneeling in the room, but there was no one there but his personal attendant and the wheezing man on the mattress, with incense burning beside him.

"Mugen-san," his attendant said, "His Majesty the Emperor would like to have words with you."

"Oi, what's this?" The warrior did not even open his eyes. A jacket covered his bandaged torso and a blanket the rest. "You're being ridiculous, whoever you are, and I'm too tired to fall for that shit."

The attendant was ready to smack the wounded man with his fan, but the emperor said, "Akira, please." He lowered his voice, to make it seem more authoritative. "Yes, Mugen-san, I am the Emperor Ninkō, and I've come to grant you an audience."

The warrior mumbled and turned his head away.

"You will show proper respect!" Akira shouted. The emperor couldn't blame him; it was what Akira was trained to do. Nonetheless, the warrior paid him no heed.

"Will you not accept my audience?" he said calmly.

"Accept your audience?" He opened his eyes just a little. "To a man hiding behind a screen?"

"He is the son of heaven!" Akira said.

"So?" Mugen finally turned his head back to them. "If it is true that men can be descended from gods, and that gods fornicate to do so, then how do I know I am not also a descendent of a god? I don't know either of my parents." He wheezed. "Perhaps the sun and the moon had an affair and I am their bastard son."

The emperor chuckled. "You think highly of yourself."

"No, I don't think much of the gods, if we are their children," Mugen replied. "We behave badly." He coughed. "I cannot fight off death and talk to a bed-sheet at the same time. I would apologize, but I'm not sorry about it. I don't have time ... for that either."

To Akira's horror, the emperor stood up, and stepped out of his tent. "Your Majesty – " He then raced to remove the chair and place it closer to Mugen, but the emperor waved him away, and kneeled beside Mugen.

"Look upon the face of your emperor, if you so choose."

Mugen did open his eyes again, and more widely this time, regarding the emperor with the eyes of a man who trusted few people, especially not his betters. His wounds were not the only places on his body that were hurt; he was covered with scars, small and large, that could have only come from battle. "Heh."

"What is it?"

"I can't stand up ... but I think ... I'm taller than you."

The emperor placed his fan on his knee, sitting very officially. _This warrior probably is taller than me._ "I have heard from your student that you are from Ryūkyū."

"True. What of it?"

The man did look a bit off, like he was of mixed blood, perhaps. Not fully Japanese. "Why did you leave?"

"Have you ever been to the penal colonies of Ryūkyū?"

"If you believe I am who I say I am, then you know I have not."

Mugen could not keep his eyes opened for a sustained period of time, but his voice had force in it, no matter how labored it was. There was a tremor of strength there. "If you had, you would know ... why I would never go back."

"There are places, I have heard, that are very beautiful. The Ryūkyūs have lived in peace with our land for a long time."

"Hai, since you invaded and we started paying tributes."

"And for this you hold a grudge?"

"No," he said, chuckling, even though it turned into a wheeze. "That wouldn't be the start of it."

The emperor could only look down, away from those piercing eyes. This man had been trampled on all his life, no doubt. He fought because it was necessary to survive. "You have been instrumental here in ways I do not fully understand, nor doubt I would if I had everyone in line to explain it to me. And as a priest I look towards compassion as a virtue." He gestured to Akira, who produced a scroll and set it down on a pillow within Mugen's reach. "From this list you may select one of the lands listed, based on your own choosing, and it will be granted. Included in the list are some places within the Ryūkyū lands. You may claim the title of daimyo, with a per annum salary of 5000 kokus of rice, in addition to whatever the land you choose provides in taxes for your household. You may pick from the defeated samurai a daisho and are permitted to wear two swords, as are any children you may have or wish to adopt." Akira produced the imperial stamp and an inkpad. The emperor continued, "All I need do is stamp it."

Mugen did not even look at the scroll. He repositioned his head better on the pillow and closed his eyes. "Sounds nice. I do not accept."

"You are very demanding!"

"You don't understand," he said, drawing heavy breaths to keep talking against his body's own will. "I don't want anything you could offer me."

The emperor was much quicker to recover from his shock than his attendant was. "You don't want people to respect you? You don't want to be treated like a real person, instead of a criminal and a low-life?"

"Is that ... how you see me? I'm not surprised." Though his expression was pained, he still had a wicked grin. "I don't care how people see me. They see me and I see myself ... and if those don't match, who gives a damn?"

"I am trying to reward you, Mugen-san."

"For what? You don't even know. But what you think of as reward ... it means nothing to me."

"Is it money you want, if not status and power?"

"Money is heavy. Hard to carry around, the amount I would need to live on, anyway."

"A temple. Do you want a temple in your honor? Monks praying for your soul?"

Mugen laughed softly. "After the terrible things I've done? They have better things to do."

"I am truly vexed." He played with his fan. "Tell me what your wish is, and I will grant it."

"Oi, I have to think about this," he said. He lay silent, and the emperor was considering the possibility that he had even fallen back to sleep when Mugen spoke again. "I want to wear the Imperial Seal."

"What? You want it as a _Mon_?"

"No. My clothing is always getting ruined by blood." He turned back to look at the emperor. "Your empire marked me when I was only twelve. Do it again. It'll be funny this time."

Akira was halfway through the first word of his disapproving rant, but the emperor raised his fan in the attendant's direction, never taking his eyes off Mugen. "It will be as you say. You and I will wear the same chrysanthemum."

That night, they woke up a capable man in town and Mugen received a blue tattoo on his chest, next to the scar on his right side, of the Imperial Seal of the Emperor, the 16-petal chrysanthemum, only for the use of the son of heaven. Mugen barely flinched through the entire process, but could barley open his eyes when it was over, having now been awake for several hours.

He looked at his chest, and then at the emperor. "It will be funny in the tavern. A good story."

"No one will believe you."

Mugen smiled. "But it will be a good story anyway."

...Next Chapter - Mugen's Promise

* * *

Chapter Notes:

- So a bit of explanation here. The Emperor of Japan was originally the ruler of Japan, but in an earlier period, the shogun (warlord) became the actual ruler and slowly the emperor was stripped of all political power. He remained a sacred figurehead, and the chief Shinto priest of the nation, and was believed to be descended by the gods. However, there was not much he did politically, and there were restrictions on his court in terms of how they acted, dressed, and travelled by the shogunate. The Meiji Restoration (1860's) was called that because Emperor Meiji RESTORED the power of the emperor by abolishing the shogunate. I don't know if that actually explains anything, but there you go.


	46. Mugen’s Promise

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 46 - Mugen's Promise

"No!" Alison shouted. "You can't leave us! You can't leave me!"

"I must," the emperor said as the attendants tried to replace the screen of his palanquin that she had nearly torn down. "I am the ruler of this kingdom, and I must pretend like they need me and be present on my throne."

Georgie came forward to pull Alison back, and got a glimpse of the emperor's face. Just as Mugen said, he was an ordinary man. She didn't know why she expected differently. "Alison, he has to go home."

"But he's my friend!"

"Friends can't stay with you all the time."

"So she says," Danny mumbled to Geoffrey, who just pretended not to hear him.

"Oi, Alison, I will miss you too, but your mother is right," the emperor said. "We must part ways."

"When will I see you again?"

He chuckled. "If only it was a question of _when_. But who knows? Life is strange enough. I cannot answer your question, little one. Good-bye, Alison."

"Good-bye, Ayahito," she whimpered, and had to step away from the palanquin so the doors could be shut. Georgie bowed as she took her weeping daughter into her arms. They all bowed as the grand procession set off, with Alison waving until it disappeared from sight.

Before the emperor's departure, he had showered them with honors, though few of them could be put to serious use. They were all permitted to wear the emperor's symbol on their clothing, indicating they were servants of the imperial court. While it hardly gave them further freedoms in the country, it might make a samurai think for an additional second before slaying them. He promised to clear things up with the "drunken lout" of a shōgun, so that they could return to Edo or Dejima when their time was up without consequence, and their relatives there would be safeguarded until their return. He predicted that the shōgun and the Choshu clan would hush up the whole affair and never mention it again, if word even got out in the first place. There were also physical gifts of clothing and toys for Alison, but as he left, none of them could soothe her.

"He did give you one other thing," Geoffrey said to his daughter. "From now on, you can always say you are a personal friend of the Emperor of Japan. That will certainly make for some interesting conversation."

* * *

The samurai-priest arrived shortly with a letter from the daimyo, who carefully avoided mentioning the entire incident except to express his regrets at their inconvenience and congratulate them on their victory. The priest, whose name was Yoshi, agreed to be the interim magistrate and take charge of selecting a new one from the daimyo's candidates, but he had no interest in the permanent position.

"We are sorry to put you out, but we know you will do the villagers right," Geoffrey said.

"I am honored to have your respect, Okappiki-san."

It was an unspoken agreement that they would stay until Mugen was recovered, and that would be a while. He didn't speak of where he would go, but certainly he would stay with them until they departed Japan, which now was at least visible on the horizon. He slept most of the day, which Geoffrey noted was only different from the normal Mugen in that he was not quaffing dishes of sake while he was awake, and he did complain a great deal about the doctor's prohibition on that matter.

The townsfolk initially regarded them with a refreshed awkwardness, as they had some suspicions as to what had occurred. Geoffrey visited Hachiro's new shop first, to hear the gossip from someone reliable.

"I think the man who bought a tea set from me was a servant of the emperor, but I suppose you can't confirm that, Okappiki-san," Hachiro said as he sat in the workroom, in front of his current piece of clay. Geoffrey shook his head. "Well, business has been very good since then, I tell you that! I am grateful."

"So what have they said about me?"

"That you killed one hundred ninja with only your jutte."

Geoffrey laughed. "They weren't ninja. They were samurai. And it was more like twenty, and how could I kill them with this?" He removed his jutte weapon, the symbol of his authority, from inside his kimono. It wasn't sharp, just grooved; it was meant to block blades. "I have guns. Everyone knows that."

"I didn't say it was the _original_ rumor. That is just the latest one. By next week you'll have defeated an army of assassins." He stopped molding for a moment. "Will you answer one question for me?"

"If it remains between us."

"Did your wife really kill Sir Kogi?"

"He was really that famous?"

"He was a legend."

Geoffrey shook his head at that. "She did, but she had help."

* * *

"Mugen-sensei, drink a little."

Mugen spat. "Not that! Enough with the tea. I want something real."

"The doctor says – "

"Sa! The doctor says this, the doctor says that. If I didn't listen to the emperor, why would I listen to a doctor?"

Georgie smiled. It was good to have the old, impatient Mugen back. "You know the answer to that."

He was at least sitting up, if very carefully, so not to disturb his wound. Dr. Ogata could not say what happened to him on the inside, as he had not the skill, but whatever was cut was not enough to kill Mugen. With all of the vital organs in that area, Mugen was exceedingly lucky. Mugen showed a muted appreciation of this, but otherwise was openly frustrated at the speed of his recovery, which was not quick _enough _for him.

"Enough of this room! I want to go somewhere."

"We can move you to another room."

"I don't want to lie in another room!"

"Normally you're quite content to lie around," Geoffrey said. "Were you hit in the head as well?

"Jorgi-chan, hit him for me. It is for your training."

She poured him another glass of tea. "That's not something I need to learn."

"Yes, she already does that quite well," Geoffrey grumbled.

In a week he could sit up, and in another, he could stand, albeit with one arm over Georgie's shoulders and the other leaning on a cane. And since he was capable of moving all of his limbs properly, Dr. Ogata predicted that he would make a full recovery, provided that he did not re-injure himself while he was still weakened.

"I want to go out."

"You're like a child! You want this, you want that."

"And you're a mother. So deal!"

The summer heat that the Japanese found so intolerable set in, and work began to slow for everyone. It was an excuse to do nothing, and a reason to tell Mugen to stay put. On especially hot afternoons, he was content to lie on a mattress on the porch and sleep.

He wanted to go to the temple, but the steps were too challenging. "Carry me," he said. "Please. I want to visit Sanjuro-san."

This was a request they could not deny. He was strong enough to walk to the graveyard, but not up the slope. Danny and Jorgi carried him to the plot, where the new stone had just arrived. "Oi, Sanjuro-san." Mugen sat down in front of the grave and bowed his head. "You finally got the death you wanted. I hope there's no illness in the afterlife."

"Mugen."

"What? It's true. I do hope that." He lit the incense and placed the sticks in the earth in front of the stone. "All of the samurai I respect seem to meet their deaths early in life. Perhaps I am bad luck."

"What about Uncle Brian?" Danny said.

"All of the _real_ samurai I respect seem to meet their deaths early in life," he said. "Dani-san, watch your head."

"I think he's complimenting you," Georgie said, helping Mugen up. "Come. It's too hot for you."

"I'm not an old man! You don't know what's good for me!"

"Anyone _but_ you can tell what's good for you," she said, "which is rest."

They said their goodbyes to Sanjuro-san, and Mugen complained the whole way home, then collapsed in his bed and slept for the rest of the day.

When it was too hot to walk around, Geoffrey took Alison (or rather, was dragged by Alison) to a retired geisha's house for shamisen lessons. If the woman had not the aura of a schoolmarm, he would have refused, or so he told himself. Instead he sat in the little room listening to his daughter pluck strings and waited semi-patiently for her to hit her occasional correct note.

Danny, to their surprise, continued his lessons with Hachiro. If anything, he was as committed as ever to learning the art of the sword, or at least the art of the wooden sword. When not busy with practice, he babysat Alison and Mugen, giving Georgie and Geoffrey time alone. Georgie seemed to need the physical attention more than he did. It was a break from the stress of caring for the irritable Mugen, and perhaps the sadness that they would soon be parting ways.

"I can't believe I've lived so much of my life without him," she admitted to Geoffrey as they watched the sun set across the valley, and the lamps of the village below begin to be lit. "It doesn't feel that way."

"I suppose you haven't bothered to ask him if he'll come to England."

"I was foolish enough to do that," she said, and Geoffrey stroked her back. "He said he didn't belong."

"You knew that was going to be his answer."

"I wanted to ask it anyway."

"Does he have a plan for the future? I suppose he doesn't."

"That, I haven't asked."

* * *

At the end of the summer, as the harvest began, the rice merchant arrived and Geoffrey used the last of Tanaka's treasure for kokus of rice. The following year, the farmers would have to manage on their own, but they had done that for centuries, and now they were a bit ahead instead of a bit behind. The candidates for the magistrate position arrived, and the priest-samurai Yoshi conferred with his Okappiki as to whom seemed the least corrupt, and eventually they settled on a young, idealistic samurai with a new wife who needed the position and had yet to be destroyed by the boredom of administration. Yoshi promised to remain on as his advisor for the first year of his tenure, and Geoffrey was satisfied.

That left them with what to do with their money – what they had brought and what they still had buried in the yard from Georgie's many wins in the competition. It didn't help that they could no longer pay for things. Every drink was free and every clothing repair was just a little something extra for their beloved gaijin, especially the Okappiki. They decided to leave the matter unresolved; something would surely come up before they left Japan or they would change back the currency.

Though they sent many letters home, none came back, all held up at the customs office. Geoffrey resorted to rice paper, as his wife used up his notebook with her drawings. She hadn't sketched in a long time, but she had hours to pass while watching over Mugen, and he also supposed she had sights that she didn't want to forget, even by accident.

Georgie often found Mugen meditating, something he'd rarely done in the past, at least not with the degree of focus he was putting into it now. What was going through his mind, she knew not to ask yet. He would tell her when he was ready, or she would pry it out of him at the last minute, but not now. Since the fight with Sir Kogi, grey hairs appeared around his ears. The rest of his hair remained the same, but the shock of his injuries had done a number on him - more than he cared to admit - and it would be a long time before he was fully restored. She had no doubt that he would be restored to his old strength. After all, Master Hyuu had been a tremendous fighter until days before his death, or so Mugen said. Maybe that was what Mugen was trying to tap into – not the physicality of youth, but real strength.

"What are you laughing at?" he said, when she couldn't help herself. She was looking at his grey hairs.

"I just want to see you grow old," she replied. "When we didn't know if you were going to live or die after the fight, I guess I daydreamed that you would be an old man before you died."

"You had a dream?"

"No, it wasn't that." She sat down across from him. "I just saw you as an old man. My mind made it up, I suppose because I was so upset because of the way I treated you the night before the fight. I pictured you in England, with grey hair, fighting some monk. He tried to stab you, but it just didn't take." She tried to remember. "You said something."

"Oi. What did I say?"

"You said ... 'You can't kill me twice.'" She frowned. "And you had this funny grin on your face, like you do when you're really mocking someone."

"Heh. I'll have to remember to say that, then."

* * *

"Stay a little longer, Okappiki-san!" the sake merchant begged as the Darcys went to pick up an especially large order.

"I think you would go out of business if I did!" Like everyone else, they refused to let Geoffrey pay. He carried two jugs and Georgie the third, balancing it on her head as if she were not concerned with it at all.

"Would you stay?" she asked. "If you had no engagements or family elsewhere?"

"Would I, Geoffrey Darcy, British subject and gentleman, opt to continue sleeping on a mattress on a wooden floor, in a square room with paper doors?" He smiled. "I cannot believe I am saying this, but I imagine I could, but that's probably only because it all seems so quaint when no one's trying to kill you."

That night, they broke open the sake and Mugen had his share, and no one objected. He still needed a cane to walk, but he had resumed some light, slow exercise. He had no problem drinking straight out of the heavy jug. "Good stuff."

"It's an acquired taste," Danny said, as Georgie filled up his dish.

"It's not a taste I've acquired," Geoffrey said. "And believe you me, I've tried."

"I want to taste!" Alison announced, tugging at her father's arm.

"Oh, no, it's not good for you. Not for years."

"Oi, let her have a little," Mugen said. "She'll hate it, and a drop will put her out and you won't have to listen to her begging anymore."

"I shouldn't be doing this," Geoffrey said, letting Alison sip from the edge of his dish. "You – you're a bad influence! I've always said that and I always will."

Alison promptly met Mugen's expectations, and spit out what she took in. "Ewww! How can you drink that?"

Geoffrey finished the dish. "I have no idea."

Sooner than he could refill his cup, or so it seemed, Alison was asleep with her head in his lap, and Georgie scowled at him and carried her off to bed. "Now – you see what you've done? You've turned my wife into a mad woman and my daughter into a drunk!" He pointed unsuccessfully at Mugen.

"They didn't seem to need much help."

"You – I don't like your insinuations!" he said. "If you didn't make everyone so damn happy – I – " He trailed off. Danny burst into giggles, and Mugen just smiled. "What the hell are we going to do without you?"

"Get into trouble all by yourselves, I'm sure."

"Mugen-sensei, don't mock him," Georgie said as she returned.

"If he didn't like it, he would have stopped me for real a long time ago," was Mugen's response to that, which Geoffrey either didn't hear because he was too busy drinking or decided to ignore.

Geoffrey and Danny quickly drank themselves into the gutter, and had to be dragged to bed. Georgie returned to clean up, to find Mugen sitting outside, leaning against the beam of the porch and staring out at the stars, a half-empty jug beside him.

"Mugen," she said, "Do you want to go to bed?" She couldn't leave him like that for the night. He was probably too drunk to walk, even with the stick, and it was a bad position for his back. She was tired herself, but she would stay awake as long as he would.

"Soon," he said, not turning to face her. "Not yet."

She sat down beside him, wondering what he was so captivated by. "Mugen, while you're drunk, may I ask you something?"

"That bad, eh?"

"Is it true the emperor offered you a living?"

He waved it away. "So? I don't want to be a daimyo. You can figure that out for yourself."

"Sensei," she said more seriously, "I don't want you to go back to that life."

"I chose it."

"I know you won't let anyone make decisions for you, but maybe people can make _suggestions_."

"I'm not coming to England."

"I know that. I was trying to be reasonable. After all, we never gave you your half of the pot from the competition?"

He grinned. "Only half?"

"It was a tie!"

"Sa, you little heart-breaker."

She frowned. "You can have it all, if you want."

They sat without speaking, letting the noises of the night fill the empty space between them. "I can't go to the West. I'll always be myself, but I'm an outsider – too much. And here, too." He looked up. "I'm not Japanese. I never was."

"You're half."

"Maybe. I don't know for sure." He swallowed. "I want to stop wandering, so I'm going to do it. I've always said I wouldn't, but it's time." He finally looked at her. "The gods must think I'm an islander, to keep sending me to Narai Kinai. Maybe they're right. I'm going back to Ryūkyū." He added, "Some of it is supposed to be quite beautiful. Not like I remember."

She could not express how relieved she was. "I think that's wonderful."

"I thought about it. Ryūkyū trades with China, Java, and the Dutch. I could write you there. And you could write to me about boring Pemerli."

"Mugen!" She couldn't help herself. She embraced him, and he didn't retreat from her touch. If it hurt him, he hid it well. "You've made me so happy. I was so afraid of leaving you."

"Oi, you won't be rid of me that easily!" he said, finally putting his arms around her. "Until the day I die, I'll be the pain in Geoffrey's neck. That's a promise."

She blinked, crushing the tears in her eyes. "I'll hold you to it."

...Next Chapter - There and Back Again


	47. There and Back Again

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

* * *

Chapter 47 - There and Back Again

Danny Maddox climbed the temple steps one last time to say his own goodbyes. He held his hands together in prayer and bowed his head. "Sanjuro-sensei." Sanjuro believed in him. Sanjuro trained him for as long as the samurai was physically able. Sanjuro forgave him when he refused to slaughter his friend and teacher. Sanjuro was fated to die, and yet he persevered in everything he wanted to do for as long as he was capable of doing it, which ended up being until the very end.

"I won't be here next year, for the anniversary," Danny said, dropping coins into the priest's hand. "Please honor him for me."

"Of course, Dani-san."

He could not shake his unsettling feelings as they packed to leave, not even in the peace of the graveyard. The priest noticed it. "What is troubling you, Dani-san?"

"I came here for a purpose, but I still don't know what it is, much less achieved it."

"You became a samurai, did you not?"

"Hai. And I learned that it is not as ideal as I imagined, but that was my own fault. Everyone tried to prepare me for it and I wouldn't listen." He looked down, not focusing on anything, mainly because he couldn't really focus on anything, even with his glasses. His good eye had been deteriorating for months now, albeit very slowly. "I wanted to be of some use. I wanted to do something ... special for someone, before I become a cripple." He looked at the stone. "Sanjuro-sensei never let his illness slow him down. Not when it mattered."

"Sanjuro-san was a samurai. His purpose was to fight, protect, and die honorably. Is that what you want for yourself?"

He had to be honest. "I don't know. I just don't look forward to being helpless."

"Sanjuro-san was wasting away, but he was never helpless. He never accepted that as his fate. Strength in adversity is what defines a samurai, at least in some people's opinions. Certainly in his."

Danny lit the incense, and planted it in the ground. After a moment of silence, he smiled. "Thank you, O-priest-sama." With that, he turned and left, one arm hanging on his two swords.

"You're welcome," said the priest, not quite sure what he'd done.

* * *

"We cannot convince you to stay?" Ayumi, Hachiro's wife begged as the townsfolk gathered around them. "Just for a bit longer?"

"Unfortunately, we have a ship to make, and it sails but twice a year," Georgie said. Geoffrey was busy fending off more presents, as there was no way they would ever get their current load back to England if it was any heavier. The boat might sink.

They did accept one final gift – a tea set from Hachiro. "Thank you for everything." He bowed to Geoffrey, Georgie, and then to Danny. "Good luck, Dani-san."

"Good luck, Hachiro-sensei."

It was when Yoshi, the priest-samurai, came to see them off that Geoffrey remembered, and removed his jutte. "I must give this back."

"We have many weapons here. Please keep it, Okappiki-san."

Geoffrey bowed, and put up no protest.

Dr. Ogata was particularly tearful, holding the book in his trembling hands. "I will always remember you, Jeffrey-san, Jorgi-san, Dani-san. And you, Ali-san."

"It was our pleasure," Geoffrey replied.

They had managed to get their hands on a wagon and a horse to pull it, mainly because Geoffrey would do anything to avoid a palanquin and Mugen was too weak to walk to Edo. "Oi. Did you remember sake?"

"You're not drinking this whole trip away."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because sake is heavy," Geoffrey answered. At least he was practical about it.

It took them nearly an hour simply to say goodbye to every person who wanted to wish them well, or thank them, or beg them to stay or to return in the future. There would always be a home for them in Imbe, even if they would never visit it again. Everyone was very clear on _that_.

"We should at least be on the road before dark," Geoffrey whispered to Georgie, and they said their final round of tearful goodbyes and climbed into the wagon. They could not have had a better sendoff unless they had just married as well. Alison kept waving, and then she buried herself in her mother's kimono and started crying. Georgie would have stopped her, but she was crying, too.

"Women," Mugen said, and turned to Geoffrey, who was wiping away his tears. "And gaijin. Dani's all right."

"Thank you," Danny grumbled, and was careful to sniffle only when he thought Mugen wasn't paying attention.

* * *

Their driver was not used to fast journeys and neither was the wagon, so they took their time. They ate from their reserves, and occasionally had enough time during breaks to go fishing, which Mugen was more than happy to do. The constant jerking motion of the wagon was hard on his back, but he wasn't willing to admit it. When the wagon wasn't moving, he was good company.

Two-and-a-half weeks later, they were all a little jolted and ragged-looking as they saw Edo in the distance, the last stop before Nagasaki. It seemed impossibly huge after a year in a small town, and Georgie sketched it as they stopped on the hill before descending down the road to the border. Geoffrey and Danny changed their kimonos to ones that displayed the emperor's symbol, in hopes that it would give them just a bit more freedom as they went back under the restrictive thumb of the shōgunate. Between the shōgun's letter and the emperor's letter, some doors would open for them, but not a lot.

"Halt!"

Their last freedom was enjoyed outside the gates, as the guards inspected their papers and searched their items for contraband materials. Mugen's presence he explained himself by pulling back his kimono to reveal the emperor's symbol. "Fuck off."

The guards didn't say anything else to him. They turned to the driver, told him to wait, and explained that they would see to fetching someone to escort them to the foreigner's quarters.

They waited most of the afternoon for the runner sent into the city to return with another official, who went through all of their items (again) and read their papers (again) and tried to speak to them in broken Dutch before they answered in Japanese.

"Our relatives our staying here, waiting for us," Geoffrey said. "Maddok-san and Nadi-sama."

He was the correct official, because he shook his head. "Those two. Come with me."

They walked down the streets of Edo with the wagon behind them, attracting some attention, but not all that much considering their Japanese dress. The shōgun's palace complex slowly came into view, and as dusk settled on the city, they were finally shown to their quarters and told to be seated on something they hadn't seen in a long time – proper chairs. With cushions!

"Oh G-d," Geoffrey said, collapsing into the armchair. "I had no idea. It even has a back!"

"Gaijin can make furniture - I will give you that," Mugen said as he eased into the other chair. "Oh, this guy. At least his wife is pretty."

"I'd forgotten your charming personality," Brian Maddox said as he entered. "Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Miss Darcy. Daniel. Are we done with the English formalities?"

"I would say we are," Geoffrey said, and gave his uncle a handshake that turned in to a hug. "Mr. Maddox."

"Brian-chan!" Alison said.

"That name is our fault. It's what we've been calling you," Georgie said, as she accepted a kiss on the hand from her (distant) uncle. They weren't totally sure that Alison remembered much of him, but she accepted his hug easily enough.

"My, my, look at you. I can barely do this – " And he lifted Alison up, but couldn't hold her for very long. "And my nephew, the samurai. If your father could see you now." He grinned. "Excuse the pun."

"Uncle Brian." They embraced quite well for two men with swords in their belts. "Where's Her Highness?"

"Coming!" came Nadezhda's voice. She was bearing a bottle, which she set down on the little Dutch coffee table. "Daniel. Look at you! Look at all of you!" There were hugs and kisses all around, and both Maddoxes commented on Alison's height and Japanese proficiency.

"We really worried for you, Mugen," Nadezhda said. "Please don't scare us like that again."

"Heh. No promises."

"You look good," Brian said, not commenting on Mugen's cane, or his grey hair. "But first – a toast. With whiskey."

"Geoffrey, stop drooling," Georgie said quite loudly as the dishes were passed around. "He's a little deprived. What are we toasting to?"

"Your safe return, my nephew becoming a samurai, Mugen being alive – what else?" Brian raised his glass. "Oh, I suppose we must. Long live the king!"

"Long live the king!" they repeated in an odd-feeling show of patriotism.

Brian waited until they were done with their first drinks to say, "It's a different king, but all the same. The king is dead; long live the king!"

"The king is dead?"

"We just received the news," Nadezhda said. "King George died in June. His brother, William IV, is king."

"Danny sent a note," Brian said, meaning his brother. "Frederick was a bit upset, but he had time to ready himself. The king was not in good health for the last few years. One would say he never was."

"But he was still Frederick's father."

"Yes," Nadezhda said. "Oh, your mail's been held up, so we'd best catch you up!"

They had servants bring out more seats and settled themselves a bit before passing out more drinks. There were no major deaths as far as they knew (the news had a three-month lag), besides His Majesty. Frederick and Lady Heather were parents to a baby boy, named Stewart after Frederick's legal grandfather, who was in good health and expected to survive. Since almost everyone was away (Charles, George, the Darcys, Danny) to be godfather, the godparents were chosen from Heather's family.

"He has brown hair, like his father," Nadezhda said.

Anne and Sarah spent the London Season with Emily Maddox, who was now engaged. (They nudged Danny, who smiled nervously) Charles was still in Italy, so Edmund Bingley escorted them, having completed his education and now had thrown himself into a small financial business he started with his allowance. From Bingley's glowing reports, he was doing quite well, and the father seemed more concerned with the lack of enjoyment in the schedule of the son than the responsibilities he took. All was well at Pemberley, where Cassandra was eager to go out and Darcy eager to put it off, but she was wearing him down. George was in France, and this coming year would hopefully be his last towards his medical degree, and then he would finally return to London and sit for his license. He even came home for Christmas to be with his sister and her husband in their house in Town. And as for the Irish relatives, Grégoire's mysterious stupor had broken abruptly in the winter and he returned from his sabbatical and resumed his column.

The mail was easier on the returning side, and they all seemed to be receiving at last some of the letters Geoffrey, Georgie, and Danny so religiously sent home. On the Japanese side, Brian and Nadezhda held for them a pile of letters for them to sort at their leisure, before they were released for a return to Nagasaki.

"Oh, thank you, thank you for not getting killed!" Brian said. "Not that I would have wished it anyway, but I have no desire to commit seppuku and it seems that I've escaped the metaphorical noose again. Now, what's all this about the emperor?"

"We need to be much drunker for that," Geoffrey said, and actually pried his own hands off the bottle of whiskey to wash up and put Alison to bed with Georgie.

"She's grown so big," Nadezhda said, and Brian gave her hand a squeeze. "Oh no! She doesn't speak English, does she?"

"No," Geoffrey said, "but it'll keep us busy on the boat ride. Besides, we needed something to say that she couldn't understand. It might as well be her native tongue."

Drinks were passed around again, and they began the tale of their time in the Bizen Province. Brian and Nadezhda went from surprised, to delighted, to horrified, and then repeated the cycle various times and in various ways. Between the three story-tellers, some details were left out. Mugen occasionally chimed in, but seemed to be nodding off during stretches of it, and when he did speak, his voice was slurred.

"Sensei," Georgie interrupted. "Come on. You should sleep on a proper mattress. Not like that."

"You're not my nurse!" he shouted.

"Really? I thought I was." She helped him out of the chair and into the hallway, and a servant led them along.

"He's still Mugen," Brian said, "but the wind's been knocked out of him."

"If he wasn't Mugen, he'd be dead," Geoffrey explained. "He shouldn't have survived his injuries, from the doctor's estimates. And he's tired from the road. He'll be in better spirits tomorrow, after he's past the inevitable hangover."

"He took a serious hit."

"If he hadn't taken it, Georgie wouldn't have been able to kill Sir Kogi, and knowing Georgie, she would have tried to avenge Mugen and been killed herself. He sacrificed himself for her."

"Perhaps it's karma that he's alive, then," Nadezhda said.

"As I actually understand what you said, I suspect I might have been in this country too long," Geoffrey answered, and knocked back another glass.

* * *

Because of their abrupt arrival, their living quarters were not set up and instead were simply Japanese. The Darcys didn't mind in the least, and were happy to curl up together in a drunken haze after they pulled the mattresses together. The stack of letters remained on the chest, opened but not seriously gone through.

"I tried to read a few, but I couldn't concentrate," Georgiana confessed. "Nadi-sama says everyone is all right. I'll believe her at least until the morning."

"Frederick's a father."

"And Heather's a mother. I wonder if they brought their son to the king before he died."

"Probably not. Frederick told me he said goodbye to his father before his wedding."

Her eyes were closed, but she was still able to talk. "If that was the only death I'll be grateful. Grandpapa is still alive! Imagine that."

Geoffrey giggled. "He's worn out that chair by now."

"Perhaps he's determined to see a great-grandson," she said, but by the time he formulated some kind of response, she was asleep.

* * *

The Maddoxes – all three of them – did not retire immediately. Instead there was a serious discussion. They stopped drinking for it.

"This is my decision," Danny said. "Not my father's. You always respected his."

"Because they were _reasonable_."

"Daniel," Nadezhda said, putting her hand on his. "At least have the surgery. This one might work. Not all cataracts are the same."

"Your father survived both surgeries with his sight intact," Brian said.

"Didn't the first one nearly kill him?"

Brian looked guiltily at the floor.

"I don't have another eye to lose. If this one fails, I'm done for. I want to try Eastern medicine first. It worked on Geoffrey, but he's too much an Englishman to admit it."

"His situation is different."

"Uncle," Danny insisted, "this is something I have to do."

Brian sighed and sat down to pour himself another glass. "You're asking me for my blessing?"

"You don't have to admit it to Father, but yes."

"Excuse me," Nadezhda said to Danny, and turned to Brian. She said in Romanian, "_He wants to know someone believes in him_."

"_I don't think he's right_."

"_This isn't about right and wrong. It's about our nephew, asking for our support. How can we refuse him?"_

Brian answered in Japanese, "I suppose you're right about that. Danny – No matter what you finally decide – and you do have time for this decision – we will support you."

"Because that's what Aunt Nady told you to do."

"Yes, that." Brian blushed. "And the fact that I love you like a son. So, here's to you, Daniel."

They all raised their glasses, and made one final toast for the evening.

...Next Chapter - Never Say Goodbye


	48. Never Say Goodbye

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

**Note:** So we're coming to the end, with the last chapter being Chapter 50. I hope it's been a fun ride. Don't worry - the next story will be in jolly old England, with a short stop in Italy first.

* * *

Chapter 48 – Never Say Goodbye

Their stay in Edo would have to be brief if they were going to make it back to Nagasaki in time for the fall ship's departure; otherwise they would have to wait another six months in Dejima. There were complications: a caravan would have to be arranged, and the shōgun would have to be told, and only on the 28th of the month could they have an audience. Fortunately Brian and Nadezhda had paved this road months ago.

"Our main activity was bribing daimyos," Brian said. "It didn't seem to do much for you in Imbe, but it should do something for us now."

It was several noble houses who came forward with the request to remove the foreigners quickly to Nagasaki. Instead of a caravan, they would take a far less conspicuous wagon, to avoid governmental embarrassment. "The bureaucracy works," Brian said with a smile as their things were packed onto another wagon and they set out. Samurai on horses did accompany them, but it was three instead of thirty. The pace was not a leisurely one, trimming two weeks off their journey and making it only four in total. In the bumpy cart, the Darcys had time to read and re-read the letters from home.

"I'm worried about Charles," Georgie said to her husband during the evening halt.

"Is he still in Italy?"

"Yes."

"Is he coming home for Emily's wedding?"

"He hasn't said."

He put his arm around her. "If he's still in Italy when we reach Capetown, we'll consider our options."

"And torture our parents with another delay?"

"If it brings Charles home, I think they might forgive us."

"A valid point."

They seemed to have more stories than Brian and Nadezhda, who had been cooped up in Edo. While they found ways around the restrictions on foreigners, they were "more careful than usual" about doing it.

"Your uncle got drunk on the pretense of forming business relationships with the daimyo," Nadezhda said. "Except for one relationship he wasn't interested in. It would have been good for the company – "

"No it wouldn't!" Brian said in a surprising burst of anger.

Mugen just laughed. "Now you have to tell, Brian-chan."

"I didn't like his terms."

"More!"

"That should be enough! I'm a businessman."

"Why does this upset you more than it upsets me?" Nadezhda said.

"Now we have to hear it," Geoffrey said.

Brian grumbled. "He wanted me to arrange uhm ... he wanted to try a gaijin woman. And since Nadezhda doesn't look much like me, he assumed that we weren't married – "

"I thought it was funny," his wife said, nudging him.

"Because you weren't there when he said it!"

She laughed and turned to the rest of them. "Brian came home furious instead of drunk, so I knew something was wrong, but it took an hour to get the story out of him! Apparently the merchant spotted me earlier in the day and was quite taken with me."

"Quite," Brian mumbled.

"Did he at least apologize for uhm, mistaking Her Highness for-"

"I don't care to remember."

Mugen was hysterical, and his laughter was infectious. Brian, normally willing to be the butt of a joke, sat and fumed.

* * *

They survived the trip to Nagasaki, though everyone rejoiced to some extent when it became visible. Geoffrey did not appreciate the unsteady ride of the wagon, though it was by far more acceptable than the palanquin. He did not kiss the ground when he got to his feet, but he did come close to it.

The samurai were a bit confused when the gaijin they were escorting demanded a stop at the graveyard shrine on the hill overlooking Nagasaki, but they had long-since realized that two of the gaijin and their Japanese servant were skilled swordsman, and it might be better to take their advice.

"Can't I go inside?" Alison begged, tugging on her father's sleeve.

"This one isn't for us, he said, and held her back with him and Danny as the others headed up to the shrine.

* * *

"Oi. Priest," Mugen said, getting the attention of the monk who was sweeping out the shrine. Mugen could now walk without a cane most of the time, and could even wear his sword, so he was a more intimidating figure. "I want to make a contribution."

The priest looked at Brian and Nadezhda, and then back at Mugen, recognizing him immediately. "Please, sir, I'm so sorry – "

"That's not what this is about," he said. "I'm here to pay you to honor my friend."

"If anything, you helped us by letting us know Mugen was alive," Brian assured the terrified monk. "We had no other means of gaining that information. Thank you."

They approached Miyoshi's grave, which Georgie had never seen, and Mugen pointed to the kanji. "Miyoshi-no-Fuma." As the priest brought out the incense, he passed him more coins. "The plot next to it is mine. I paid you, but I intend to live a lot longer than I did before." He turned to Georgie. "Promise me you will see me buried here. I know it is a lot to ask."

"It's not."

"It is. It is a world away, I know. You don't have to come. Just make sure it happens."

"Hai, Sensei."

"Oi, don't make her promise that!" Brian said. "You don't know what the future will be."

"That's why I need some insurance!" Mugen replied.

"I will help you, Mugen-san," Nadezhda said. "For you, and Miyoshi-san."

"Miyoshi." Brian clasped his hands together and bowed his head as Mugen put the lit incense in the ground. They all did, and stood there, all but Georgie remembering the samurai who had made all of this possible, reluctant as he had been. Brian still carried his swords, and Mugen still loved him.

"Let's be going," Mugen announced after a long silence.

"No," Brian replied. "There's one other thing we have to do."

* * *

"You're _what?_"

"I'm not going," Danny said, pulling his pack off the wagon, and wrapping a traveling cloak around him. "I'm not ready to go back."

"Your father will – "

"I know what my father will say!" he shouted back at Geoffrey as the others caught up. "He's said it already, in many letters, but it doesn't change anything. Just because you're done doesn't mean _I_ am. Everyone got to make peace with themselves but me."

Geoffrey turned to Brian in desperation. "Please tell him – "

"We already had this discussion, and I already agreed." He straightened himself. "Well, I didn't agree as much as agreed to stop quarreling, and face my brother when we get home and form some meager defense in why I don't just grab him now and toss him on the ship."

Georgie couldn't believe her ears either, but the defiant look on Danny's countenance was hard to face, even for her. "You came to be a samurai, and you decided you didn't want to kill. And we all admire you for that. What else do you want?"

"Japan does not have a cure for your disease," Geoffrey said. He couldn't let Danny go into the hostile wilderness of Japan and not say it. "If it did, we would have found it already."

Danny looked down. "I know." He looked at all of them. "And I know that my family is expecting me home, and my mother worries for me every night. And I know I'll miss my sister's wedding. But if I have to go through the rest of my natural life without my vision, I at least want to choose things carefully before that happens."

Geoffrey crossed his arms. "I don't think this is a very careful choice. Perhaps you made it that way, but I disagree. And I will be held somewhat responsible when you don't come home."

"Then lie. Say I ran off." He looked at Georgie. "You understand. You must understand, when you have to do something for yourself, before you can be whole, and you can't explain it but you can't deny it, either?"

She did not answer immediately. Instead, Alison answered for her by grabbing Danny's legs. "Don't go! Who will be my Cousin Danny?"

"I'll always be your Cousin Danny," he said. "That's a promise. I just won't always be around."

"No!"

"Alison," Georgie said calmly, and pulled her away. "Kiss your cousin goodbye."

"No!"

"You don't think he deserves a kiss? After all he's done for you?"

Alison looked at both her parents, and Geoffrey just nodded. She ran back to Danny, who picked her up one last time so she could hug him properly and kiss him on the cheek. "I love you!"

"I love you, too."

Geoffrey looked at his wife. "You can't agree to this."

"How can I not?" she said, and embraced Danny. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I will."

"In other words, don't do anything I would do."

He grinned. "I will try my best."

Nadezhda hugged him, and Brian attempted to keep it to a gentlemanly handshake, but didn't succeed. "You come home in one piece. If for no one else, then for me." He held him so tight that Danny squirmed. "Nephew."

"Uncle Brian."

Mugen stood up and bowed. "O-samurai-sama. Try not to get into too much trouble. And when you do, send for me. I'll write Nagasaki and leave something for you there, on how to find me."

"I will. I promise."

Mugen clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll do all right. If Brian can survive, so can you."

"Hey!"

Geoffrey was the last, and most reluctant. They shook uneasily at first, not wanting to face each other properly. "I don't understand it," Geoffrey said, his voice shaky, "but I can't stop you, so I suppose you've forced me to respect it. Good luck, Mr. Maddox."

"Good luck, Mr. Darcy."

They bowed to each other. "Quickly!" Mugen said. "Before the dumb samurai notice!"

There was no time for a second round of goodbyes. Danny looked at them all, taking them all in with what remained of his eyesight, bowed, and left, scurrying up the hill, and into the coming darkness of night.

* * *

The trip down the mountain was sedated. The effort they put into making it appear as though they had an additional person asleep in the wagon was the only real activity, as everyone was lost in their thoughts, even Alison, who curled up on her mother's lap. "Will I ever see him again?"

"That's what people said about me," Mugen replied. "And now they can't get rid of me. You'll see him again."

They were almost numb to the arrival, and the guards searching their things, and escorting them through the darkened streets to their temporary prison on the water. Dejima was as it had been a year before, only it seemed smaller now, and even more confining. A dumbfounded Opperhoofden was woken and appeared half-dressed to greet them as their bags and boxes of goods were taken up. He exchanged words with Brian in Dutch, but otherwise, there was not much talk as they were settled in their various rooms.

"Why can't we stay with Cousin Danny?" Alison said. She refused to settle into her miniaturized four-poster bed. "Why do we have to go? We're so happy here."

"We'll be happy in England, too." Geoffrey stroked her hair. "It's our home. Our family is there. Your grandpapas and grandmamas and aunts and uncles ... they're all waiting for us. They've written to say how much they've missed us."

"But won't people miss us here?"

"Yes, but this is not our home, and they're not our family. It's different. You'll see."

"Can we come back to Japan, if we don't like it in England?"

Georgie gave her a reassuring smile. "You'll like it in England very much. And someday, if you really want to, I imagine you'll find your way back."

Alison finally settled down, allowing her parents some respite. They fell asleep holding each other, in the mutual reassurance that was each other's arms.

* * *

In the morning, they met with the ship's captain. Brian told him months prior that they would be aboard, but he was surprised to see the crowd anyway, looking so worn but happy, almost disappointed to be leaving. The captain laid out the map before them. "We'll have to stop for a week or two in Canton before we can continue on to India, and then head for the African coast. The port there is in need of supplies that we've been able to get here, and the Crown has authorized us to give them over and be compensated back in England. So we will not stop in Batavia – just go straight down like this, to the Cantonese port, and 'round to India."

"Oi," Mugen said, from his seat on the floor. He stood up and joined them, pointing on the map. "Do we pass these?" He pointed to some dots.

"The islands? Yes, I suppose we'll see them, if the weather holds."

"What are they?" Geoffrey asked.

The captain answered, "The Kingdom of Ryūkyū. A small tributary of Japan. The do some trade with us, but their economy – "

"I'll go with you," Mugen announced. "To Canton, and separate from there."

"You want to go to Ryūkyū? Why? Or should I not ask?"

Mugen shrugged. "I want to see it again."

The captain looked up to Geoffrey for approval, and he just nodded. Georgiana was obviously overjoyed; her separation was delayed just that much, and with the days counting down, it seemed like she had been granted an eternity.

* * *

"All life is impertinence," Mugen said, raising his sake dish. "Nonetheless we have both come to rely on this place as a refuge on our journeys, and the day has come when we all must leave." He knocked back another shot. "To be fair, my master's words, not mine."

"An odd thing for a Japanese to say," the captain said to Geoffrey. "Their culture refuses every possible change."

"They think they don't need the changes we're offering," Geoffrey replied. "Who knows if they're right?"

The captain, his passengers, and some of the ranking officers of the crew sat together in a tavern in Nagasaki, surrounded by attendants and spies, as they drank and ate and listened to geisha sing and play the shamisen. They would leave in two days, but they needed the time to prepare, so this would be their last night on shore.

"Isn't it true, Mr. Mugen, that once you leave Japan, you can never return?"

He shrugged. "Each time I left I heard that from someone. They were never right." A round of laughter erupted from the drunken crowd, but some were happier than others.

Geoffrey, who was sick of sake but not of everything that surrounded him, got up to have a moment of air, giving Georgie a parting smile. He stepped out into the courtyard behind the inn, and several guards followed him. Would he have a moment of peace?

"Jeffrey-san," Mugen said. He had snuck up from behind, and now he stood across from him, regarding him in a different way. "You've been through a lot for Jorgi. More than I've been through for anyone."

Geoffrey raised his eyebrow, but didn't contradict him.

"I bought you both a gift. It's not what you think; so don't refuse it outright. In fact, you'll regret it if you walk out, I promise you."

"You didn't buy us a whore, did you?"

Mugen just laughed. "What do you take me for?"

Geoffrey only had to glare at him in response.

"Fine, you're right. But she's not a whore! Not anymore, anyway." He finished his sake bottle. "Go. Have fun for once, Okappiki-san."

Georgie joined him shortly after Mugen left. "Mugen sent me to join you to go to some house. What's this about?"

"You just blindly do whatever he says, don't you?"

"You haven't figured that out by now?" She pulled him along, and they asked for directions and were escorted to the address Mugen told her. It was obvious it was no teahouse, but it was too quiet and discreet to be a brothel. Their guards were bribed to sit outside, and the matron who greeted them insisted on doing it herself. "Your visit is paid, O-Gaijin-sama."

"This is a mistake," Geoffrey said. "We would never – "

"I am aware of your moral strictures," she said. "This is not that kind of place. This is a school."

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows at his wife, who looked a bit uncomfortable herself, but they took tea with the woman in her sitting room, and they did not refuse the offer of sake as well, to calm their nerves.

"I am very familiar with the customs of foreigners," she said. "Especially from the West. You are very uptight about all things natural to men and women, especially husband and wife."

"We're leaving."

Georgie grabbed him and forced him back into his seat. "Mugen did pay," she whispered.

"I don't care!"

"We can at least _listen_."

Geoffrey sighed. "Please, more sake. Lots more."

The stout Englishman in Geoffrey would always look down on the Japanese as having loose sexual morals. Some were appropriate to them, some never appropriate, but if anything could be said for their openness and their inherit belief that regular sex was important to general health, it was that their society was very well-schooled in the conjugal arts. He learned more in one ear-burning, one-hour lecture than he did in all of his years at Cambridge, which culminated in a private exercise, awkward at first, but continually more comfortable. Mugen was right in that respect; what Geoffrey and Georgiana shared in that room after the doors were closed and the servants gone, he would always remember. There was no way that he would ever permit himself to forget such heights of ecstasy. Georgie giggled during a break when he said, "You know, this country might not be so bad after all."

The sun was rising when they emerged, their clothing hastily tied, their hair matted with sweat and askew, holding hands with a glow that made them invincible. Nothing could touch them, not in their own intimate world that they had created and only they shared.

"We never speak of this to anyone," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Except each other, of course. I plan on bringing this up regularly."

"You can be quite demanding when you wish to be, Mr. Darcy."

He grinned. "I don't hear you complaining."

* * *

The next day, the Dutch flag was raised on the ship, the last of the trunks were loaded, and there could be no further delays. There were no other passengers aboard this time – just them and the crew, with one conspicuous absence that the captain didn't know about or need to know about.

"He will be fine," Mugen assured them all as they stood on the deck, facing Nagasaki, and the majestic mountains behind and beyond it. "Well, not _fine_. He will do well. He will flourish."

"I'm in big trouble if he doesn't," Brian said.

"Is it always about you?" Nadezhda replied with a grin.

"If I can help it." He waved. "Goodbye, Japan. See you next time."

They were all waving. "How do you know," Geoffrey said, "that there will be a 'next time'?"

Brian grinned. "I never do, but there always is."

...Next Chapter - The Engrish Passengers


	49. The Engrish Passengers

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point. Otherwise, enjoy!

Check the Flicker account for frequent updates based on things described in the chapters. Updates bi-weekly or so.

www . flickr . com / photos / 25734638 (at) N03 / sets / 72157605063518073 /

**Note:** Don't worry about Danny - he'll be fine when we see him again, which will be in the next story. Next chapter I will have notes about the next story and what to expect. Until then, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 49 – The Engrish Passengers

"Mugen-san! Look!"

Mugen rolled off the pile of supplies he'd been napping on and walked across the deck to join Alison and Georgie. The former was pointing enthusiastically at some tiny specs in the distance.

"Kid, you can barely see them."

Georgie took the spyglass and handed it to him.

"Oi. What's this?"

"Look through it. No, the other way." She flipped it over for him and helped him position it. "The captain says those are the Ryūkyū Islands."

He looked for a while as they sailed by. "They're not the same."

"You said not all of it was penal colonies. And what has it been? Thirty years?"

"How should I know? But yes, a long time." He put down the spyglass. "What do you think, Jorgi-chan?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the one who has to like it." I hope you find what you're looking for, was what she wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to do so. The trip to Canton afforded her just a little more time with her mentor, but parting still seemed impossible. She came all this way, only to leave him again, but she was too old and cynical to nurse fantasies of him coming to England with them. He was older, and tired of the road (even if he wouldn't admit it), and the novelty would be lessened. She just never remembered him speaking of his home country affectionately before, so it was hard to imagine it now.

She had to give him the truth. He deserved that much. "It looks beautiful."

"Can we come and visit you?" Alison begged, tugging on his jacket.

"If I have a house, I'll leave a guest room open for you. How about that, Ali-chan?"

It was all going by so fast – literally. The islands were in their view for a few hours, and then they were gone, as the ship moved with the currents. In a few days, they would be in Canton, in China, and Mugen would be arranging his departure. And then – he would be gone.

He put his arm over her shoulders as she wiped the tears away. "So I've been thinking. I know, very rare for me, but I have. And even if we really have to go, until we see each other again, I like this reincarnation business. That way, we never really have to say goodbye, do we?"

"I suppose not."

"This time, maybe I'll try to be born rich. And handsome."

"I don't think it works like that."

"Why not? If you can choose what gender you are, where you're born – why does it stop there?"

Georgie giggled. "I just think it does."

"You give up so easily. Rich and handsome. But not royalty. They always seem to have so much to do. I want to be lazy if I want to be."

"You have time to think about it."

He smiled. "Hai, I do."

* * *

Upon their arrival in Canton, Geoffrey Darcy carefully unrolled the remainder of his English clothing, aired it out briefly on the deck, and descended below to put on his shirt, vest, and trousers. His cravat he could not for the life of him find, but he didn't let it bother him.

"I can't believe you still have them," Georgie said.

"I am an Englishman."

"Perhaps we ought to remind our daughter of that."

Alison was up on the deck with Nadezhda while Mugen and Brian spoke to the captain.

"It should be about two weeks, maybe three at the most," Brian said to the Darcys. "We can stay at the British colony. It's safe from disease."

"Is this England?" Alison asked her father in Japanese as he held her up to see the port and massive city beyond it.

He kissed her. "Not quite, darling."

* * *

Canton was noisier and less structured than Nagasaki by nature, especially with the heavy mix of foreign cultures coming together for the purpose of trade. It was heavily British, and it was not hard to find an inn with only English and Mugen's rusty Chinese. The food was sensational, and they ate heavily the first night, stuffing themselves on spicy beef and chicken.

Geoffrey and Georgie put Alison to bed, they found themselves alone in the sitting room, having some tea to settle their stomachs when Mugen entered, looking more reverent than he normally was. He bowed. "Jeffrey-san, I have a request of you."

"Yes?"

"We will be here for two weeks," he said, "and I would like to take Jorgi somewhere north. It will only take a few days, a week at most. Please, hear me out."

* * *

Georgie and Geoffrey discussed it late into the night and most of the next day, considering every possibility and danger, but he knew he could not refuse her when she set her mind to it, and she did that the instant Mugen suggested it. This was his goodbye, and Geoffrey did not have it in him to refuse her that.

A day later, she kissed them goodbye and boarded the small boat that would take her and Mugen north along the Chinese coast. "Bring her home safely," he said to the guide, "and you'll get the other half of your payment."

The guide, with his long queue and mastery of both English and Japanese, just bowed to the Englishman and pushed the boat away from the harbor with the oar.

"Where's Mama going?"

"I could tell you, but I don't really understand myself."

* * *

Two days up the jagged eastern Chinese shore and an additional day of walking into the woodlands, two foreigners and their guide approached the heavy wooden gate that protected the stone stairway from intruders. The groundskeeper was pulling up useful weeds that he could crush and sell to make medicinal powder when they approached.

The one who resembled a Japanese approached and pointed to the heavy padlock over the doors. "Do you know where we can find the key?"

"No one is permitted. The monastery is closed."

"I know. So where is the key?"

"In Beijing, perhaps. It's been locked up for years. No foreigners."

The orange-haired woman said something to the guide, who bowed. "Even for British?"

"Not for anyone."

"Are you the guard here?"

"No. There is no guard. Only steel."

"Excuse me," the Japanese said, and without ceremony, raised the staff he was holding and swung it against the bolt. Having been exposed to the sea air for years, it was rusted through, and broke under the applied force. He stepped back and the demon-haired woman pushed the door open. Even though she was small, she had more strength in her than the groundskeeper guessed, and managed to open it just enough for the three of them to slip in.

"All right, then," the groundskeeper said, and returned to his work.

* * *

"It's so beautiful," Georgie said as they rested on one of the landings. The stone, carved right from the mountain, led them up to a massive structure with red tiled roofing of exquisite design. "I never imagined it would look like this. Or that anything could look like this."

Mugen leaned on his cane, which he used for the stairs, gazing up at the Quan Yem Monastery. The peaceful silence was odd. Something was missing – the hum of the monks, praying with the rise of the sun.

"You say, you were a monk here?" their guide asked.

"I studied here," Mugen said. "A long time ago. When did it close?"

"Just after the last master died. Some of the monks held a protest outside the Forbidden City, but they were jailed, and ultimately released, to join other orders or to go free. Some simply walked away, after they buried their master."

They continued. It took them most of the morning to climb the stairs, and fortunately they brought water with them, because there was nothing to be had and they needed their strength to pull open just one of the wide, green doors.

The room before them was massive, bigger than anything Georgie had seen in Japan, and taller than anything but the cathedrals of France. The place was a silent disaster zone – what little remained of the trappings of life were scattered about, covered in dust. At each pillar was a carved stand where a statue of some kind had stood, but most were empty. Only a few still had the feet of the broken statues, or the bottom of their robes.

"Oi. Jorgi."

Georgie turned to the right, and the first statue hidden behind the door. It was the only one with most of it remaining in its place, but the head had been knocked off at some point and was long gone, and there was a lump where an arm, which had clearly once been outstretched, was lost. The other arm was held against the chest of the standing monk and remained intact.

Mugen approached it, and looked up at the statue where it stopped, at the neck. "I remember you. You used to have juzu beads." His voice was shaky as he put his hands on the statue. "Someone looted them."

"Sensei," Georgie said, "who was this?"

"Hmang Shin, Master Hyuu's first successor. He venerated the memory. He said he would not let himself forget the lessons of the past." He turned away, almost angrily, at the wanton destruction. "There are other things to see."

The halls were empty. Little remained except broken furniture and the doors themselves. There were grooves in the stone were furniture and other objects had once rested.

"After the dissolution," the guide explained, "the government took everything of value. What remained was looted by the villagers, either for their homes or simply for firewood. There were many hard years for them, especially after all the monks were gone and there were no more pilgrims. Traffic decreased, and so did trade, and they suffered."

Mugen pushed open one door, revealing an empty room. "Buddha," he said, pointing to the painting on the ceiling of an impossibly-shaped grotesque man. "One of his incarnations. I spent hours staring at him." He kicked at a stone. "My bed was here. They must have taken the wood."

"Not all of it," Georgie said, eager to cheer her master. She pointed to the small window high in the wall, which was still guarded by a wooden fixture.

"It seemed so much larger then," he said, tapping it with his cane, but not otherwise attempting to disturb it. "Come."

They passed through great halls, and Mugen pointed. "This is where the mats were. We use to sit in prayer here." He pointed to an empty room with the pillars painted red. "There were tables for eating here." It was all massive and beautiful – and empty. He seemed to be looking for something, and grunted after inspecting several smaller rooms. "Not here."

They ascended steps to the next level, where there were more empty rooms. The walls were painted with monstrous gods.

"Here!" he cried, first in joy, then in a sort of disappointment. "It was here, Master Hyuu's office. They took everything." He knelt on the ground and rubbed his hand across the dent in the stone. "They took his desk. What was it worth to them, another desk?" He stood. "Georgie?"

But her eyes were focused on something other than the floor. Behind the grooves, on the back wall, was a painting of a black-faced, six-armed monster emerging from fiery clouds. "Who is this?"

"That is Mahakala, the protecting bodhisattva of Tibet."

"Is she worshipped in China?"

"Not commonly," the guide answered.

She touched the painting gently, as if she was afraid the flames were real, and would burn her. "They didn't take everything."

"What?"

She turned again, following the eyes of Mahakala to the opposite wall. There was another massively complex drawing of Buddha there, but this one was not so old, and quickly done. She ran her fingers along it until she found the groove in the tip of the Buddha's finger, and slid it to the left, revealing a hidden compartment.

"How did she – "

But Mugen cut the guide off with a hand, and waited for Georgie to remove the contents herself. There was a scroll of cloth, with writing on it.

"A prayer flag," Mugen said.

"Can you read it?"

"I can," the guide said, and took it from her. "May the Bodhisattva of Compassion bring perfection to your body and life. May your life be long and may good fortune flourish in your new home. May this wish-fulfilling jewel grant whatever you desire."

"You hang it, and the wind reads the words and says the prayer for you," Mugen explained.

"What is the wish-fulfilling jewel?" she asked.

"A common Buddhist phrase, especially to the west, in Tibet. The high lama there is called the wish-fulfilling jewel and is considered a living Buddha." He held the scroll out for one of them to take.

"Mugen," Georgie said, "I'm English and Christian. You're meant to take it." She took the scroll and bowed, holding it up for him. "Sensei."

He took the flag, held it to his breast, then put it in his kimono. "Thank you."

"Is there somewhere else you wanted to go?"

"Yes – there should be stairs near here. A little staircase."

They found it behind a fallen door. The guide stayed behind as they climbed the rickety wooden staircase. The room had no windows, but several of the tiles of the roof had fallen through or been broken by nature, and fresh air and sunlight poured in enough for them to see their way. In the crevices of this attic, broken parts of statues remained, covered by spider webs and some by blankets.

Mugen knelt on the floor. "Here." Georgie couldn't see, so she sat down across from him, and between them was the faint outlines in chalk. "Here is where he showed me." He traced his fingers along the chalk lines. At first Georgie assumed it was another Buddha, but she saw the human form, and the lines of ki he'd shown her in Japan, here done on stone instead of paper. "Ki flows from here," he pointed to the man's torso. "From here, all life emanates. He drew and I watched. I didn't know then what it meant to him. I knew it was important, but it seemed so mundane. I didn't understand." He shook his head. "I didn't understand. Please forgive me."

"Mugen, you were a boy. There's nothing to forgive."

"I didn't take refuge in his kindness. I was always tough, and I left him to the wolves. He died alone."

"He told you what to do, and you followed his instructions. He died surrounded by his students, knowing his successor would continue his tradition no matter what happened to his physical self. Mugen-san, please don't be upset."

He fell into her embrace, and for a long time, neither of them spoke. She could not console him with words as easily as she could with touch, the way she did with Alison.

"Forgive me," he mumbled, this time more obviously saying it to her. "Forgive me."

"You don't need my forgiveness, but I offer it anyway."

They eventually descended the stairs, and rejoined their guide. There was nothing else to see here, in this place whose time had passed – or perhaps it lay dormant, waiting for the next generation that would require it as a refuge and a home.

"Mugen," Georgie said as they walked back towards the shore. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Did you bring me here because you want to believe I'm your sensei?"

He gave an uncomfortable smile. "I brought you because I wanted you with me when I faced my sensei's ghost. You, Jorgi-chan. Not anyone else."

* * *

"Mama!"

The dock didn't look particularly steady, but that didn't stop Alison's tiny feet from running across it to jump into her mother's arms.

"Honey, let me step out of the boat!" Georgie laughed as she balanced Alison and her own feet as she stepped up to the dock. Geoffrey was there to greet her with a kiss. "Geoffrey."

"Georgie. I missed you." He nodded to Mugen. "Glad you're alive."

"That's all I get?"

"Did you expect more?"

Mugen smiled and accepted a hand from Geoffrey. "It was enough."

* * *

Their last week in Canton was spent on a spree of buying, not for themselves or the company, but for Mugen. He was stupefied by the process, and the things they were imagining as necessities. "When would I need these?" he said to a pair of decorated, ivory chopsticks.

"If you have guests."

"Oh, wooden ones aren't good enough for you now!"

"You might not have time to make them."

Mugen lived alone all his life, making things and buying things as he needed them and wearing them down and finally discarding them when he used them up. He scoffed at the process, then looked uncomfortable with the chest of treasures they were buying him.

"Oi! I don't know why I need them, and why would I have them? I can't pay you back."

Georgie smiled at him. "You can pay me back." She put a pile of sheets of paper on his lap, and on top of them, a stack of labels with her address in London, written in English for him. "You can write me and tell me how much you like them. The British colony here will forward the letters for you. Just seal them like this." She showed him how to operate a wax seal, and Geoffrey helped her, to his own amusement.

"I don't need this much paper to say that!"

"Well, you do if you write proper English letters, describing your day, who you saw, what they said, how the weather is..."

"I'm supposed to describe all that? Why?"

"Because," Georgie said, "I want to hear it."

They set up everything – a post box at the British colony for him to forward things from the islands, money in an account in case he needed it, all he could every want and none that he imagine he would. "We'll see. Maybe someday you come and pick up the rest of the money."

"We might take you up on it," Brian said, and Nadezhda nudged him.

No matter how long they spent shopping, or how many hours they stayed up drinking Chinese liquor with him, the hours passed just the same, and the boat they arranged arrived. They couldn't keep it waiting.

"Be careful," Nadezhda said. "More careful than usual."

"But now you know where to rescue me if I need it!"

"Mugen-san." She sighed, and hugged him. "Be happy."

"Maybe when I sell all this crap I will be!"

"Try not to spend it all at once," Brian said. "Or lose it gambling. Try to stretch it out over a few weeks."

"No promises."

He turned to Geoffrey, and they bowed to each other. "If you hear something about a red-haired samurai, will you rescue him?"

"Dani-chan will be fine."

"All the same."

He bowed again. "I will, Jeffrey-san." He was now strong enough to pick up Alison, so she could hug him properly.

"Where will you go, Mugen-san?"

"Somewhere small, quiet, but with enough of the word I'm not supposed to say around you."

"Whores?"

"Alison!" her parents shouted.

"That's right," he said, and kissed her on her cheek. "Listen to your parents, Ali-chan. They love you very much."

"And you?"

"I love you very much, but I'm not Mama and Papa." He set her down, and led her to Geoffrey.

Georgie stood at the end of the dock, wearing his old sword, his style of geta, and dressed in her outfit that modeled his old one. "Mugen-sensei."

"Oi." He placed his hands on her cheeks, and they bowed so their foreheads were touching. "Don't be sad."

"You must have something else to teach me. It can't be over."

"Maybe next time," he said, trying to wipe her tears away. There were just too many of them. "I have to come to England now, when I'm old and grey."

"You promise?" she said with all the enthusiasm of a much younger person than she was.

"I promise, Jorgi-chan," he said. "And you know me. I never break my promises. Not the ones worth keeping, anyway." Taking her hand to steady himself, he climbed into the little boat, where the small crew was waiting. "You taught me, and I taught you. Now we're even."

"I'm not Master Hyuu."

"That's not what I meant." He smiled, and kissed her hand before releasing it as the boat pushed off. "Goodbye, Jorgi-chan."

Georgie didn't wait to fall weeping into her husband's arms, still managing to wave as he disappeared into the morning mist. "Goodbye, Mugen-san."

"Until next time," Geoffrey said, more for her to hear it than the departing figure.

* * *

The mood was less cheerful as they embarked the boat to sail home a week later. They watched the Chinese coast disappear, and turned their heads and their minds to more pressing matters – teaching Alison English.

"Engrish!"

"No, not quite," Geoffrey said. "But close."

They opened the letters from home and reread them to put their minds to English matters – Frederick and Lady Heather's son, Charles in Italy, Emily's engagement to some Cambridge Fellow graduating in the spring. They tried, but their minds were elsewhere, forever in the Orient.

The ship sailed into the Indian coast, and from the sights and smell alone, they knew they had left the place they had called home for so long now. Their stop was brief – barely long enough to see the port itself, but long enough for an Indian servant to bring a letter to Geoffrey. "From Canton, sir."

"From Canton? Did we leave something behind?" He broke the seal and opened the letter. "Oh. Well." He grinned, and passed it to his wife. "Perhaps you ought to read it first."

She looked down at the Japanese text on English paper.

_Jorgi-san,_

_Have not written so long in lifetime (mine) so sorry about grammar. You cannot read this can you? I will try harder._

_I live in a small house on small southern island. People give it to me after I run yakuza out of town. Finally all your stuff I have in closets. Finally I have closets. _

_I put the flag up on the post. It flies in the wind every day and prays for me. Maybe it works. I am very happy. I will ask it to pray for you in Enge land. _

_I pray, the Buddha, the Dharma, the Sangha, all the jewels should protect you, and your husband, family, children._

_Moo Gen_

"He sounds so happy," she said, crying already. "And look, a return address! I can write him!"

"Don't get it wet," he said. She would treasure that letter for a long time to come. "His grammar needs improvement. Alison is one child."

"I know," She took him aside, and in privacy, put his hand on her belly, "but we're soon to have two."

...Next Chapter - Epilogue - The Tale of Gendai


	50. Epilogue: The Tale of Gendai

* * *

The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

**Final Notes:** Well it's been a long journey, both for the characters and you guys. This is my favorite story in the series. I know a lot of people like Knights of Derbyshire and that's my number 2, but this is my favorite. I hope you enjoyed this little tangent into Japan, but I know you're looking forward to being back in England with the rest of the cast.

The next story, tentatively titled _Obligation and Desire_, picks up about 3 months after chapter 49, with the younger Darcys stopping in Italy to see Charles Bingley III on the way home to England. There's matchmaking, marriages, and all the usual stuff (which means an occasional fight of some kind), and a segment in France with a guest cameo I think you will enjoy. Thank you to everyone for reading this far! I'll post a preview in the next week or so and probably start posting the next story in a few weeks, max. The Jewish holidays are coming up, I'm moving apartments, and I can't overtax Brandy much more than I already do (you wouldn't believe the consistency errors we deal with in this saga), but I won't want to make you guys wait too long. P.S. We do see Mugen again.

Thank you to everyone who supported me by buying Book 1, especially the people who did it unintentionally, thinking it was new material they hadn't read 2 years before as fanfic. Because it's been so successful, Sourcebooks and I are hammering out a deal for books 2 and 3 (The Price of Family and Left to Follow). Wish me luck on that.

And as always, if you spot any historical mistakes in the story, leave a comment or PM me so I can correct it in revisions. I appreciate it.

* * *

Chapter 50 – The Tale of Gendai

The Uchina people could not help but notice their visitor. Her cloak did a poor job of disguising herself, or hiding the boy beneath its folds. He must have not been much older than four or five, from the way his topknot was tied. The islanders found her trying to sneak away some food from behind the tavern without being found. She thought a female worker might be more understanding, but the maid was too curious for her own good and the whole town – nay island – knew of her presence. She could not disguise herself enough to hide the fine silk kimono beneath her cloak. It was simply too fine for anyone on their island, certainly. And when they were done gawking at her fabrics, they started on her, but she didn't speak Ryūkyūan. When they queried her in Japanese, she begged forgiveness, but refused to answer their questions. She was a runaway; that much was obvious. Hiding from her husband with her lover's child? Cast out of the family because of a youthful indiscretion and its result? She certainly looked young, and those rich Japanese daimyos didn't tolerate a philandering wife. The only question was, what was she doing out here?

Well, it didn't matter. She couldn't stay. If she had come so far, there were men after her, and they wanted nothing to with the Japanese, especially daimyo samurai. Who knew? Maybe she was even one of the shōgun's courtesans! What scandal!

"We should kill her and send her body back!"

"Oh? And what about the boy? Are we to hide him?"

"He's just a boy!"

"He'll avenge her when he grows older. He'll kill us all."

"Oh," said the tavern master's wife. "How did it come to talk of blood already? She's done nothing wrong here."

"Samurai! She'll bring samurai! We've never had Japanese samurai here. What will the king think?"

"Who cares what the king thinks? I don't want to find out."

The woman spoke at last, fending them off only with her air of desperation as she hugged the child to her chest. "Please, I won't cause any trouble. I can leave! I can pay for transport!" She held out coins – more money than some of them had ever seen.

"We can't sail now – not to China on these seas. We have to wait for the winds to die down."

"What do I do until then?"

"Hey, we'll ask Gendai-sama."

"Gendai-sama?"

On this, the mob seemed to agree.

"Mom?" the boy said, but she shook her head. She didn't know the answer either.

"Oi. What's this?"

The voice came from the tiled roof of the tavern. A man was sitting up on the roof. He was dressed in the island style, but didn't have a topknot at all. There was nothing about him signaling the status of a lord, except perhaps for his sword, but he only had one, and it was no samurai sword. He stood up, his geta clacking against the roof, and leapt right off it, landing next to her.

"You are Lord Gendai?" she whimpered. Some of the islanders were bowing.

"Some people call me that," he said in a more fluent, less accented Japanese. "So, you want to kill this woman for what? Some samurai that might be showing up? She didn't say that. I was listening."

"What will we do?

"Nothing." He looked at the woman, and at her child. "You – come with me." He turned his back to the mob, and they made a path for him.

"Gendai-sama! What will you do?"

"What? I'm going home, and she's coming with me."

"What about the samurai?"

He shrugged. "If they come, send them my way."

One of the bigger islanders briefly tried to get in his way, but he just stared up at him, and the man went fleeing in the other direction. "Lord Gendai" lit his lantern, and they walked from town, deeper into the woods. "This way."

She wasn't so sure this was the best idea, to be leaving alone with an armed man, but she would take his offer. If she had to, she would let her son escape to China, and slit her belly with the dagger hidden in her obi – but hopefully, it would not come to that.

Lord Gendai did not speak on the way. They passed many houses, lit and unlit, until finally heading up to the cliff. There was a stretch of land there that was cleared but not used as farmland, except for a small garden. The house was not particularly large or well-kept, but it had several rooms. Lord Gendai entered, and lit the lamps inside. "You can stay here. I have another mattress, but not two. The boy will have to sleep with you until I can find another." The final thing he lit was the small fire below the grate, before setting the teapot on it. "Tea will be ready in a bit."

"Your lordship – "

"I'm not a lord. I don't know why they call me that, but I don't care," he said. "You can call me whatever you like, as long as it's not that."

She set her boy down, but he remained by her side, as he was taught. "I can pay – "

"You don't have to." He removed a tea set from the chest.

"Do you want to know – "

"I'll give you time to make up a name. Or you can tell me your real one. I won't know the difference." He bowed his head, waiting for the water to boil, and she didn't want to ask anything. Her son finally pulled himself free and padded over to the kneeling man, and for whatever reason, pulled at his hair, which was wild and on the long side for someone with no topknot. "Kid, that hurts." Instead of striking him, he took the hand and gently pulled it away from his hair. "What's your name?"

"Akihito!"

"Akihito!" she screamed.

"So that's it? Very noble name." Gendai reached into the box and removed a dish, which he uncovered to reveal little black bean-like items. "You look hungry for a 'bright' boy. Here, have some dried meat."

Before she could stop him, her son dipped both hands in the bowl and began shoveling it into his mouth.

"Not that fast! You'll hurt your stomach." He patted Akihito on the head. "Go wash up. There's a pump out back. You don't want to be all filthy for your mother, right?"

Akihito bowed, and ran out the back, in the direction Gendai was pointing. Gendai removed the tea from the stove and set it on the tray between them. "You want to tell me your name, too? Or make one up? Or should I?"

"Murako."

He bowed. "People call me Gendai." He was older than her – perhaps in his late forties- with grey in his hair, but not much. He had a lot of life in him. He moved slowly, but it was because he did everything with great care, like a Zen master, even though he didn't dress like a monk. "Drink."

They drank together. It was good tea – much better than she'd had while on the run. For tea that was made in a hurry, she would say it was very good. Gendai poured another cup as Akihito returned, and insisted he drink it for warmth. "It'll be cold tonight. Let me find you some blankets."

There were only a few rooms, and she finished her tea and joined him as he found a mattress and unrolled it in a room used for storage. It had plenty of space, and he found two, then three blankets and a clean pillow.

"Are you going to ask me who I am?"

"No," he replied. "You'll tell me if you want to. Otherwise, I don't have to know."

"Is there a boat in the morning?"

"There won't be a boat for a while. Nobody comes here except the traders, and they were just here. You can stay as long as you like."

"I have money."

"I don't need money. I don't need anything." He pushed away some boxes, making more room for her and her son. "Your court kimono is too fine for the island weather. Tomorrow we'll go and buy a hardier one, so you don't ruin yours so quickly. There's no need to worry – no one will touch you under my protection." He bowed. "Good night."

She knew what she had to do. After Akihito was asleep, she removed her clothing, put her beautiful court robe over her body, and padded across the house, kneeling in front of the door to Gendai's room. If he would protect them, it was worth it. She took a deep breath and slid open the door.

"Don't bother," he said, not even turning over to face her. By all other appearances, he was fast asleep. There was no light in the room, only the moonlight coming through the window. "That is not what this is about."

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. You're not a whore, so I refuse to treat you like one." He rolled over to face her. "You can stay, and so can your son, as long as you like. If you want to pay me, then you can help out around the house. I hate cleaning. I always have. Now get some rest. You're exhausted."

She bowed, tightening her grip on her kimono. She was now ashamed of her nakedness beneath the kimono. "Thank you, Lord Gendai."

"Gen is fine."

"Hai, Gen-san."

He smiled, and turned back over. Within moments, he was snoring again. She slipped out and returned to what she now supposed was her room, put her under-kimono back on, and slipped under the covers beside her sleeping son. Usually she spent the night with an eye open, barely catching sleep between frightful awakenings and looking over her shoulder, but that night, she finally slept well.

* * *

When she rose in the morning, Gen was already up. In fact, he walked in from a trip to the village, bearing some fresh food and a kimono for her and a little one for Akihito, both in the style of the islanders. She held out coin, but he shook his head. "If you sail with traders to China, you won't need them anymore, and I'll return them. If you don't, you can go and buy whatever else you need." He set aside the packages and picked up a rod. "Make yourself whatever you like. I'm going fishing."

Still mystified, she changed into the islander kimono, which was not especially fine, but clean and new. She noticed that Gen left his sword on its stand in his room. Why did he trust her so much? Who was he? He wasn't a local, but he didn't appear to be Japanese, either. He carried himself very oddly: not with the simpering bow of a servant, but nor with the pride of a ranked noble. He knew who he was and would not accept anyone challenging that. The rooms were simple, but the items he had were very fine, some of Chinese origin. There was a Buddhist prayer flag flying on the porch, but it was in Chinese, so she couldn't read it.

Murako found herself exhausted simply by the act of heating breakfast for herself and her son, and was embarrassed to discover how much she had eaten. This was what months on the road had reduced her to. She cleaned up, neatly put the remaining food away, and retired. Fortunately Akihito knew not to make trouble for them and found amusement with one of the bizarre items from China, which must have had some other function beyond a child's toy, but did not appear breakable.

She rose to the smell of fish on the fire. It was much later, and she made herself presentable before joining Gen in the main room. He was a good fisherman and a good cook. He had done everything himself, but he lived alone and without a servant, so that was probably his way. "Eat," he said, passing her a bowl of fish and another of steaming vegetables. He served Akihito, too, before he served himself. "How old is the boy?"

"Five." She had no reason not to tell him. He probably could guess close enough.

"I'll teach him to fish, if he wants, even though he's a little young." He turned to Akihito. "Do you want to learn to fish?"

"Is it fun?"

"I think it is. And it's good when you're on the road, and you're hungry." He wolfed down his own food. "And I'm always hungry. Hey, I see you found the little horseman. I have a whole set somewhere, of jade soldiers. I'll have to find it."

Murako helped him wash the dishes, and he took his sword and left for the evening. She heard him return very late, obviously drunk, and pretended to be asleep as he stumbled around until he eventually found his own room and collapsed on the mattress.

The next day, he woke very late, and had the distinct look of a man trying to disguise his hangover. "Will you go to town? I need some herbs, and some more sauce for the soup. And if they have meat, I'll take some of that, too." He handed her his money pouch. "And don't believe what they say about me. Unless it's true."

"Should I take my son?"

"If you want to. If not, just tell him not to break anything." He closed the door, indicating that he was going back to sleep.

She did not take her son, who would only invite more speculation, or at least slow down the trip, which she wanted to be expedient. Fortunately there was only one path through the woods, and it led straight to the little town. Fearing the critical eyes of the locals, she quickly ducked into the medicinal store. Fortunately the woman working there spoke Japanese, as some of the islanders didn't. "The usual, then?"

"And some headache medicine, if you have it."

The woman chuckled. "I suppose he'll need more of that." She went to and fro in the store, collecting the things needed. "So, you're staying with Gendai until the traders come?"

"Perhaps."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about. They grilled him last night pretty rough, but he set the record straight. You're just his guest, not a foreign conquest." She chuckled. "How he can go straight from a brothel to defending a woman's honor, I'll never know. But that's Gendai for you."

"May I ask something about him? He doesn't talk about himself much." Or at all.

The woman began to portion out ground herbs into little packets on the table in front of her. "He came a few years ago. Four? No, it must be five. He spoke Japanese, Chinese, some other languages I'd never heard of, but only a little Ryūkyūan. When we bothered him about it enough, he said he was born in the north, on one of the islands where they have the prisoners make silk. He doesn't know his parentage. Obviously he's been wandering for a long time. He didn't have to tell us that." She tied up the little packets in such a neat bow. "When he came, there were some samurai – Ryūkyū samurai – that were basically thugs, and they were bringing all kinds of trouble to the island. He ran them out the first night he was here. Killed one of them, but from what I heard, that was because the guy wouldn't leave and charged him. Since then, it's been very peaceful here."

"And the house?"

"It used to belong to an old man whose family left to find work in China. Gendai took care of him until he died, and the man left the house to him." She frowned. "I think when he first came, he had a different name. Mu Gen or something. It's changed over the years."

"How does he live? By fishing?"

"That and he helps us when the traders comes. He speaks a lot of languages, and we pay in kind, and let him drink at the inn and whatnot. On festival days, he always has candy for the children, with real sugar. They love him. Otherwise, he keeps to himself. No one wants to get in his way, not after what he did to those samurai." She put the whole package together and passed it to her, taking some coins from the purse. "He's a good man. He drinks, he fights, he gambles, but that's all on the surface. He has a very calm way about him. If you choose to stay, it'll be good for you, and your son."

"Arigato." (Thanks)

"You're welcome."

She returned to the house with a sense of relief that was beyond description.

* * *

Their days fell into a quiet routine. Every day was not the same, but that depended on Gen's activities the night before. If he went drinking, he slept in. If he did not, he rose early. He fished, and worked in the garden. He spent long hours meditating or slowly practicing his strange forms, which were either native or Chinese. He was very lively around Akihito, or any of the islander children who came to visit him and beg for sweets.

She didn't speak of her past, but he guessed enough of it to know that she didn't know how to clean or how to cook, and he showed her. "You know how to write?"

She nodded.

"I need help with these letters I send. I can read and write a little, but I'm not good enough. If you would help me, I would be grateful."

How could she not? He fed and clothed them, and gave them shelter without any serious demands. Mugen was an apt pupil, and learned quickly. She didn't particularly understand who he was writing to or what he was talking about, but they were not business letters. They were to a woman, because he asked about her daughter, and her husband, but the name was bizarre.

"It's not what you think," he said to her unasked question. "She was my student. She came from far away to study with me, and then she went home."

She did not stop herself before she said, "You took a female student?"

He shrugged. "She was very good. Is very good."

So it was not a former lover, or even a wife. He did not carry around the sadness of the widower, so he had probably never been married. Always, she was afraid to ask. He was such an odd man and had done so much for them, and she didn't want to foul anything up. Their lives depended on it.

One morning, the ringing of a bell interrupted their breakfast. Gen finished quickly. "That's the traders. Their ship has been spotted. I suppose I should go earn my keep." He put on his jacket and his sword. "They should be here within the hour. Are you going, or do you need the time to decide?"

She looked down at the floor, then up at him. "Gen-san, will you answer a question?"

"I can try."

"Why are you letting us stay here? We can't pay you, you don't seem to want anything, and we're just invading your privacy."

"If I wanted to live in privacy I wouldn't have taken you in," he said. He paused, studying her expression, and said, "I don't admit that I like having people around sometimes. I just wait for them to come to me, and here you are. Akihito is a good boy and he doesn't deserve a life on the run. I know what that's like. And besides, how long do you have to live? Not long enough to raise him to an adult."

She looked away. She was doing so well, and she was so discreet. "How did you know I was ill?"

"I'm familiar with it. Also, there was blood on your sleeve, when I washed your kimono." He turned to her more seriously, with a certain air of genuine concern. "How long have you been sick?"

"A year now, perhaps."

Gen nodded. "You could live several years if you take care of yourself. There's no better medicine in China – not anything that can cure you – but you can live a long time with consumption. Still, not long enough."

"I don't know what to do."

"Well, you don't have to decide today. The ships will be back in a few weeks, weather permitting. You can leave – or not leave – anytime you like. I don't advise trying China, without serious money or a knowledge of Chinese, and I don't know it well enough to teach it." He shouldered his pack. "I'm off."

She couldn't manage a response. As soon as he left, she broke down and cried on the floor.

* * *

Murako and Akihito did not leave with that ship, or the next. She had not been spotted since she left Okinawa, but she still kept running. Even with the price on her head, she supposed that Gen would protect her. He said he would, and he seemed good to his word.

It was not an easy life, but it was a good one. She traded in the mind-numbing boredom of court life and the frustrating scheming of the similar-unoccupied ladies for simple chores and living. She didn't know how to sew, but after she found Gen sewing her own torn jacket, she had enough courage to ask him to teach her. The island dialect was not far from Japanese, so it was easy to pick up, and Akihito was a child so he was speaking it as if it was his own within months.

As she cooked and cleaned, she watched him flourish. For so long he was taught to be still and quiet and not draw attention to himself, but he was a boy and it went against his instincts. He learned to fish, to swim, and in time, how to play all the games the islander children played. As soon as his presence was constant enough, they accepted him as their own, especially because he lived with Uncle Gendai, whom was universally loved by anyone under ten.

Under her tutelage, Gen's writing improved, though she did not understand the nature of his letters, which seemed so mundane for a man who surely had better things to do with his time. The ones that arrived for him were none of her business, though sometimes she was tempted to peek at them, as he kept them all and reread them several times. One day he returned from the traders with a package, and was delighted to put up the most bizarre picture she had ever seen. The figures in the painting were not properly drawn, but instead more to life, if anyone looked or dressed like that. They were undeniably Western, but they looked so different that Gen had to explain they were a family.

"This one," he said, pointing to the seated woman wearing a hat over red hair. "That's my student. Jorgi-chan."

"You taught a foreigner?"

"She was good."

With the obvious affection he had for her and the other people in the painting, she didn't question it.

Gen was religious, but no monk. She knew he continued to visit the women in town who made their services available, and drank more than he should, but he was respectful of the rituals he chose to respect. There was no Buddhist shrine here, just a village priestess who performed bizarre rituals to ward off and alternately send thanks to the invisible demons that surrounded them all. Though she was the most powerful person in the village, the priestess showed as much deference to Gen as he did to her, not out of fear like some islanders did, but an odd sort of respect.

When Murako had been living on the island for almost a year, and knew the dialect well enough, she approached the priestess, who said, "There is a man who has seen the gods and argued with them. And he won."

"Is that what his tattoos mean?"

The priestess regarded her oddly. "They're Japanese tattoos. They mean he was convicted of a crime. He must have escaped the penal colony. They are of no religious significance."

Murako saw no reason to doubt it. Gen had the hardened look of a criminal, though he rarely used it in full force, and never around children.

On Akihito's birthday, it was time to give him a new shave if he were to stay in the community, or so some of the other women told her. He ought to look like the other children. She decided to ask Gen's opinion.

"There's no reason not to," he said. "It all comes back anyway."

She bowed her head.

"Oi. What is it? Do you want him to keep his little ponytail, like a samurai's son?"

"Are you opposed to the idea?"

"It's just hair."

She poured more spices into the pot. "I thought you didn't like samurai."

"I don't like some samurai. Usually they're the ones that get in my way. But there are samurai I've liked. Loved. If you're going to judge people at all, you should do it on their own merits."

In the end, they decided not to give him the islander cut, but to let him keep his distinct future-samurai topknot and locks. No one objected enough, and Gen didn't question it. As always, he just seemed to know.

* * *

Murako thought maybe the island winds would cure her, but they didn't. It never was truly cold, even in the dead of winter, but her health declined in the extremes of weather, hot or cold. Sometimes she had energy to do chores, sometimes she didn't, and always, she was coughing. Gen wasn't asked. He came home from shopping with more of the tea that was easy on her throat and served it to her while she was still in bed. They agreed that it was time for Akihito to have his own room.

"The weaver had a cough like that, and she died," he said. "Is Mother going to die?"

"The weaver was an old woman! Are you calling your mother old? Disrespectful child!" He swatted Akihito, and Murako found the strength to laugh.

In the spring she formally saw a healer to better manage her care. She knew that they were just trying to give her more time.

When Akihito turned seven Gen said, "Do you want me to train him in bushido?"

"You know it?"

He shrugged. "Well enough. To become a serious master, he would have to join a dojo, but that would be years away. I know all the codes and the teachings of bushido, not just the art of the sword."

"I don't have swords."

"I do. I have a daisho, a good friend gifted to me when he died. Akihito could have them, if that is what you want for him."

"If he wants it ..."

"That is what you want for him?"

She was non-committal. Truth be told, she had mixed feelings about it herself. "He should at least know these things. It's in his blood."

"I'll teach him. You rest."

Mugen cleared out space in the yard, and when Murako recovered, she watched her son pick up the wooden sword Gen carved for him. At first they were really just playing, but slowly, Akihito learned to copy the sword katas Mugen showed him. He took pride in it.

"I only ask one thing of you," Gen said when Akihito was gone to town. "Tell me I'm not training him so he can avenge you, or anyone else. That can be a reason if he decides it, but not the only reason. That's not a good path for a child like him. He deserves better."

She looked down at her tea. "You've never asked anything of me, even my full name. Is it because you didn't want to know?"

"I said you would tell me when you wanted to."

"Akihito's proper name is Hosokawa-no-Akihito. Before I was born, my marriage was arranged. My father was part of the Hosokawa clan, but he made overtures to the Mōri clan because he wanted a better trading relationship with them. He said the next daughter born to him would marry any man they chose.

"When I came of age, so did Mōri-no-Yoshinaga, who was the heir to the position as daimyo. I never cared for him, but our marriage was already set. However, he contracted a stomach virus and was ill for many months. During this time, I fell in love with a distant cousin, Hideyoshi, and we married in secret. I was with child when Yoshinaga recovered. He was outraged, and his clan is far more powerful than mine. Hideyoshi loved me, but he was only a low-level samurai and my family demanded that he commit seppuku for the honor of the clan. He did, but only to save my life. I married Mōri-no-Yoshinaga, and Akihito was born a month later. Yoshinaga never forgave me for my brazen actions. When I heard he was conspiring to have Akihito murdered so he could not grow up and avenge his father, I decided to leave. I was chased, but I escaped. I did terrible things and while in hiding, I contracted this horrible illness. Since I came to the islands, I've not seen a samurai, but I did not plan to stay here, until I realized how hard China would be. I know I will not survive, but I want Akihito to. I would do anything for his happiness. I've survived only because of your unending kindness – " She broke off, covering her mouth to disguise the sob. "I cannot repay you."

He let her find comfort in his arms. "Oi, don't be upset. I'll care for Akihito until he is old enough to go out on his own. I don't have a proper reason for you. Who knows? It will keep me entertained."

But she had already learned the truth. Gen never said what he meant, but he loved Akihito. He had always cared for him and he always would. Gen was not a young man, but he was not old, either.

"You will tell him the story, when he's old enough?"

"When he's old enough."

* * *

She had good days and bad days. The balance seemed to be shifting towards the latter, but there were many happy days. There were festivals, there were hours spent with her son, or just watching him play.

"He's growing so fast," she said.

Gen nodded and let her refill his sake dish. "That's what kids do."

"Gen-san, you love children so much. Why don't you have some of your own?"

"Why? They seem to find their way to me anyway, without all the work."

"I've never heard it said that way."

"Well, now you have." He grinned, and headed inside, taking the sake bottle with him.

It was so hard for her, to keep ignoring him like this. Why did he shun her and content himself with whores?

With a certain amount of liquor in her, she was determined to find out. She removed her over-kimono and took her old court kimono out of the case and dressed herself. She slid his door open.

"I thought we did this a while ago?" he said.

"Is it the illness? Or is there something else about me?"

"No. It's not – anything." He rolled over. "I can't explain it. I'm sorry."

"So I'm just undesirable?"

"On the contrary. It's me, Murako-chan. I don't take well to commitment."

"You're lying. What kind of man takes a woman and child in his home for no reason? Who sends long letters to his faraway gaijin student?"

Gen shook his head and laughed. "I suppose you may be right."

"If you want me to go, I'll understand. And I won't ever bother you again."

He sat up. "No. Don't go."

That was it. No other words were needed. Akihito was already asleep, and too young to understand or care that two adults would spend the night together.

"Why did you never take a wife?" she said between kisses. His skin was not soft, even under his clothing. She had seen his scars before, but never felt them. They were softer than she imagined.

"If I took a wife, I'd be married, and you wouldn't be in this room. Possibly. Depends how good a husband I was."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Clever." His hands were rough, but he could make her feel like they were silk as he caressed her body. He didn't answer the question, but she was too occupied to ask again.

She was married to a man who wanted her son dead, and he was a former vagrant and criminal. There was ice around his heart, and it took two years, but she finally melted it.

* * *

Murako's last year was a good one. She would even rival it to the brief time she'd been married to Akihito's father, with less excitement and more peace. She understood it wasn't in Gen's nature to talk openly of their relationship to anyone, sometimes even each other, but his actions always spoke louder than his words.

She saw her boy continue to thrive under Gen's care. Someday, as she'd asked, he would be a samurai like his father. Under Gen's guidance, she liked to think he wouldn't be quite as obedient as her husband had been. It might be against the tenants of bushido, but perhaps a little independence would serve her son well. She tried to picture Akihito as a man, as a samurai. Would he look just like his father, or favor her?

"Oi, Mura-chan, don't cry," Gen whispered. "Or do that. I don't know with you women. Always crying."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "You always know the right thing to say."

"It's one of my many talents."

It was good not to be alone in bed, because she was spending more and more time in it. The coughing and hacking was exhausting, and she had to be told to eat.

"Look, Mother, what Gen-san got us!" Akihito plucked a piece of steaming pork from the bowl and fed it to her. "Isn't it good?"

"I was lazy. I bought it," Gen said shamelessly. "It smelled good."

"You didn't have any?"

He pushed the bowl forward. "You eat first."

The priestess visited them, and set up amulets of conch shells and pieces of tied grass. She re-blessed the house and appealed to the different gods of the household to protect and heal Murako. Gen was very polite, and thanked the priestess. Murako wondered if he situated himself so that she could hear him speak with Priestess Shoka.

"Do you have anyone else to care for her?"

"If I need someone else, or if she asks for someone, I'll hire someone. Why?"

"You, who are so close to death yourself – perhaps you should not be the one to watch over her."

Gen laughed, but it was not the gentle sort of laugh he used with children. "If anything, I should be around to teach her how to cheat death, as I am quite accomplished at doing so. You can put up all the wards you like, but I will not leave her side because of my past." He added with a hint of anger, "There is nothing unnatural about me."

"Of course, Gendai-sama."

"And I don't appreciate the implication that there is."

"My apologies, Gendai-sama."

"O-Priestess-sama."

Gen opened the door. The priestess was gone, but the incense were still burning. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

He held her hand. The islanders surely knew the truth of their relationship now, but no one said a word, and it was unclear if they had any reason to disapprove. The only one who concerned them was Akihito, who understood only that Gen made his mother feel better, and he was fine with that.

"Is there better medicine in China?" Akihito asked.

"No," Gen said. "If there was, I would take her."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen this before. Several times, actually."

Akihito, who had never formally been told his mother's condition, had tears in his eyes. "Why does she have to die?"

"Everyone has to die, Aki-chan. We don't usually get to choose when it happens."

"It's not fair."

"I never said it was." He softened his composure. Murako watched through the screen. "I didn't know my mother at all. It is this way with many people. Your mother is around because she couldn't bear to leave you when you were so young and vulnerable. Soon you're going to be a brave samurai, not a helpless infant."

"No!" Akihito pulled himself from Gen's grasp. "I want her to stay with me."

"Oi, even if she was healthy, you would have to leave her eventually, to start a life of your own."

"No!"

Murako turned her head at the sound of her son running out the door. She was too weak to call out. Gen didn't follow. He returned to her side. "He'll be all right. It's very hard, but he's a brave boy."

"I can't leave him."

"Well, if you believe what the islanders say, your spirit will be in the graveyard, and he can visit you all he likes. If you're a Buddhist, just reincarnate into a local."

She managed a giggle. "It's not so simple."

"And why not?"

Murako could not properly answer him.

* * *

Her world became clouded. It was hard to get a grasp of things, literally or with her mind. Gen was there, and so was Akihito, and the priestess. Maybe some other people; she wasn't sure.

"You had a fever," Gen said. It was later now. It wasn't light out. "It's down a bit now."

She could barely breathe. Drawing in air felt like dragging it across a jagged cliff hidden in her throat. She took a little of her favorite broth, but nothing else. It hurt too much to swallow.

"Gen-san," she whispered, "tell me a story."

"What kind of story do you want?"

"Something with a happy ending."

He put his hand over hers. His was so warm in comparison to hers. "Let me think. Most of my stories end with somebody dying, because I killed them. I think that's a pretty happy ending, but you might think differently." He was watching her; he must have seen her smile. "Let's see ... there was a no-good vagrant and a samurai, and they loved each other, but the samurai died. That's not very happy, is it? Well, he wanted to die. A bushido thing. So I guess it's how you look at it." He smiled sadly. "So let me think. Oi, I know one. It's about a lost princess who is rescued by a mighty warrior from ... well, some suspicious villagers. But they can be pretty tough! Especially when they gang up on you. And I think one of them had a stick."

"Nobody had a stick."

"How do you know? This is my story!"

She smiled. "Fine. And who was this gallant warrior?"

"Well ... I'll tell you who he wasn't, which was a convict covered in scars who no one in their right mind would ever trust. And not with their kids! Certainly not. And gallant rescuers don't spend their money on drink and whores, that's for sure."

"Did he have a name?"

"Ach! Who cares about names? People called him what they wanted to call him, and he didn't care."

"But did he have a name?"

Gen sighed. "The people who really loved him, called him Mugen."

"It's a nice story."

"You think so? I thought it was terrible. All over the place."

"It was fine." It hurt so much to talk. She would rest, and find a little strength. He would excuse her for nodding off, surely.

When she woke, it was light again, and Akihito was there. "Mama-san."

"Akihito." She had rehearsed this speech so many painful times, but still it just came to her, what she should say. "I love you, you know that? I would never leave you if I had a choice."

He nodded, his eyes full of tears.

"Your father died for you. When you're older, Gen will tell you about it. He loved you, too, even though he never met you. He had to hurry up and share all of his love when you were still in my belly. We decided on your name before you were born, so he would know it before he died, and he could pray for you up in heaven. And if he's forgotten, I will remind him." She added, "Remember who you are, but don't let it be a burden, or it will weigh you down."

"I love you, Mama-san."

She could no longer rise, so he had to hug her while she was still lying down, more of a furious embrace. When he was done crying, Gen led him out, saying she needed rest.

She did. She needed more rest than sleep could provide. "Mugen, answer this question for me – why were you so kind to us?"

He grinned. "Why not?"

It was his way, and it could not be described. Even he lacked that ability. She smiled sweetly at him, staring up at the floor from her position on the ceiling. He didn't seem bothered by the odd shadows on the upside-down room, or the men entering to escort her. They were warriors, but they were so undemanding for the way they were dressed.

Gen stood, and remained in place, his feet on the floor that was now the ceiling, as they carried her away. He remained in the distance, seeing her off.

"I would go with you," Mugen said, "but I have some things I still have to do."

The End


	51. Preview

Upcoming story - "Obligation and Desire"

by DJ Clawson

Readers: Sorry for the break, but I had to move apartments and I have to get books 2 and 3 ready for possible publication. The next story will begin next week, with my usual twice-weekly posting schedule. As always, you can catch early previews and updates at my forums, which have a link to them on my FFnet profile page.

Book 1, the first two stories, is available in stores and on Amazon and various online retailers. If you live outside the country and can't get it and woudl like to buy a signed copy, I would be happy to sell one to you and ship it for you. If you just want to continue reading the series for free, by all means, enjoy. The books are not radically different. They just have fewer spelling and continuity errors.

**Obligation and Desire** is story 10, and the next-to-last in our series. It picks up three months after we left off, with the younger Darcys (Geoffrey, Georgie, and Alison) are on their way home from Japan. But first they're going to stop in Italy and pick up Charles Bingley III. Obligation and Desire also returns us to England - the Darcys, the Bingleys, and the family at large. George is graduating and searching for love, Isabel Wickham-Franklin is due to give Lydia a grandchild, and Anne Darcy is on the marriage market. Could something go horribly wrong? Well I hope so, otherwise it won't be very interesting.

Here's a preview to hold you over to next week. Subscribe to my Author Alert or check FFnet next week for the story **Obligation and Desire**.

* * *

Geoffrey Darcy – gentleman, husband, father, and world-traveler – returned from his extended voyage to the Orient after making a shocking discovery that would have sent any dandy into convulsions: his boots no longer fit. After two years of wearing sandals, his feet had spread, and attempting to slip into leather boots was a painful experience. Even in Capetown, as their ship rounded the coast, they were unable to find anything. He would have to have new boots made upon their return to England.

Not that his wife had any objections; Georgiana Darcy (nee Bingley) found the whole thing amusing, and having a fashionable husband was the least of her concerns. That did not mean she was particularly pleased with him at this time. She always found the first few months of her condition to be the hardest, with the rocking ship not helping.

Aside from Brian and Nadezhda, the only one unperturbed by the lengthy journey was Alison Darcy. At four years of age, she was easy to amuse, and her smile could melt the heart of even the hardiest of sailors, especially when they spoke to her in Dutch and she answered in Japanese. The deck of the ship was not a large playground, but she had plenty of toys in her room and her father to care for her when her mother was resting or ill (which she always seemed to be, in Alison's opinion). They insisted on speaking to her in another language, but it did not interest her in the least.

"She's not in an English environment," Brian said to Geoffrey. Almost all of the ship's crew were from Holland. "She'll pick it up as easily as she picked up Japanese."

Geoffrey had no doubt of it. They parted ways with the Maddoxes on the Spanish coast, taking only their essentials – their clothing and money – and boarding a ship to take them to Italy. The ship was much smaller, and the rocking was more difficult for both parents, but fortunately Alison was easily entertained by the passing ships of the Mediterranean and the often-visible coast. The crew was Italian, which Georgie spoke enough of to manage steady communications from her year in seminary.

They'd written to her brother Charles of their intentions from Japan and again from South Africa, but they had no way of knowing if the letters reached him in time. Previously he invited them to the villa he inhabited on the Italian coast, so they assumed the invitation, something he did not readily give to other family members, was still open.

"I hope he's happy to see us."

"I hope one of us remembers to bring Alison when we both race off this boat."

Geoffrey laughed and kissed his wife.

Clad in the new, ill-fitting suit purchased in Capetown, Geoffrey was the first with his feet on land, but only because he carried his daughter across the plank (which she deemed frightening).

"Is this Uncle Charles' house?"

He looked at the dock warehouse and said, "Say it in English."

"Papa!"

"Say it."

She put her hand in her mouth. "That – Uncle Charles home?"

"Is this Uncle Charles' house?" he said in English.

"Is this Uncle Charl is house?" she mimicked.

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "It isn't, but well done."

Georgiana, who was wearing one of the new dresses over her kimono, returned to them after speaking to a local. "The address is half a day's ride from here."

"In a carriage or a palanquin?"

"I insisted on the palanquin."

"I'll walk," Geoffrey said with a roll of his eyes; Georgiana instructed the dock-workers to load their one trunk onto the carriage. The bumpy roads were nothing to the incessant rocking of the ship, and there was something comforting about the smell of the inside of a closed carriage, padded with cushions and local fabrics. It was still foreign, but so much more like home to them than anything they had felt in years, not even in the British colonies in India and South Africa.

"Is this Uncle Charles' house?" Alison repeated, pressing her finger against the glass at the appearance of every farmhouse, shack, and tollbooth.

"No," Geoffrey said. "Let your mother rest." Georgie wouldn't ever dream of admitting it, but she was worn out not just from the journey but also from her condition. She was pale, and drank ginger tea constantly, keeping it in a flask in her purse. A warm bed and rest would do her good. If they were at Pemberley, so much the better, but that would have to wait a few more weeks.

"What if we miss it?" Alison whispered in Japanese.

"We won't," he assured her, and pulled her over to his side of the carriage. "I promise."

Alison was quiet long enough for even Geoffrey to doze. He woke to the halt of the carriage, and found Alison with her head in his lap. Still yawning himself, he waited for the groom to open the door. "Signor."

Georgiana was already awake, but she did not look composed, and Geoffrey stepped out first and handed the note with the address to the driver to confirm that the yellow-washed stone house on a hill he was looking at was indeed the current home of Charles Bingley III. He gestured for their trunk to be removed, and picked up Alison and set her down, then went about seeing Georgie out of the carriage. "Are you all right?"

"Starving," she said. "And – I suppose I could use some air."

"There certainly is plenty of it," he said. The air smelled of the sea, and he helped her to sit down on the trunk. There was a footman at the beginning of the manicured path leading up to the villa, and he approached and exchanged some words with the groom before turning to the Darcys.

"I am Signor Darcy," he said. He could manage that much in Italian. "My wife is Signora Darcy, Signor Bingley's sister."

"I speak Italian," she announced, picking her head up. Her bonnet was not particularly efficient at blocking the sun. "Please, sir."

They exchanged some words, and it must have gone well, because the carriage was given permission to depart. Geoffrey could only catch bits of it, but it seemed that Charles was not expecting or seeing visitors. Georgiana redoubled her explanation of who she was (as the letters seemed not to have reached him in time) and how she would see her brother, and the footman relented, and gave Geoffrey a nervous smile. He was either astoundingly well-dressed for a servant, or they had been in Japan for too long.

Another servant came down to offer assistance with the trunk. He spoke no English whatsoever, but that didn't stop Alison's barrage of Japanese questions, the first being whether he was her uncle or not.

"Your uncle is blond, darling," Georgiana said. "You might even recognize him."

The path, not paved but smoothed for curricles and horses, was beautiful in of itself, with periodic potted plants and columns in imitation of the old Roman style. Each one of them was differently colored and was even possibly of great age. Between the trees they could see the ocean, a beautiful blue seen through a clear sky. Why anyone would want to live here was no mystery.

The villa itself was a square structure with a red roof, rather simple in construction but not in appearance. It was surrounded by gardens and patios and everything man could do to compliment it, making a house smaller than theirs in Lancashire appear grander, if in a Continental way. Everything exuded elegance.

True to her father's hopeful prediction, Alison did recognize her godfather. "Uncle Charles!" she screamed, running ahead of them to greet the man emerging from the house. Charles Bingley the Third was exquisitely dressed with his coat in an Italian cut, his blond hair tussled, and his side-whiskers kept short. He retained the features of a man several years younger than he was, and he had an easy smile for his niece, kneeling to greet her. "Goodness! Alison Darcy, look at you!"

"I know who you are. Where did you get your house? Does anyone else live here? Can I play in the garden? Do you have a pool? Did you bring presents? Did you miss me, Uncle Charles?"

Unfortunately, her amusing tirade contained only two words 'Uncle Charles' understood – and those were the words. The rest had been in a steady stream of fast-spoken Japanese. He recovered quickly. "I missed you, too." He hugged her, and stood to bow to Geoffrey. "Welcome back, Geoffrey. Georgie, are you all right? I apologize – I wasn't expecting you."

"We wrote, so you should get the letter in a few months," Geoffrey said as Georgie embraced her brother.

"I'm fine," she said, and whispered something in Charles's ear, which he responded to with a wide smile.

"Really? Oh – " He spoke quickly to the woman in black standing behind them in Italian, probably the housekeeper, and she curtseyed and left, returning with a chair for Georgiana. "Please. What would you like?"

"Tea. Any kind will do," she said. "It is so good to see you." She held his hands in hers for a moment before she let him go, and he had more orders for the servants. He was surprised that they only had one trunk, but Geoffrey shrugged.

Eventually they were settled on a patio overlooking the valley below, and Charles did manage up a surprise of a doll for his goddaughter, who managed to thank him in English. Georgiana's color was returning, and she nibbled on a pastry, then scarfed the rest of them down.

"Oh G-d," Geoffrey said after taking a sip of the offered wine. "This is the real thing. Do you know what I would have paid for this a year ago?" He clinked his glass against Charles'. "Italian?"

"French."

"Of course."

"He's going to be cup-shot in a few minutes, and asleep in an hour," Georgie said as she watched her husband happily down his glass. "But he deserves it, I suppose."

"You see how you like wine made from rice!" Geoffrey said to Charles.

"I'm sure I wouldn't," he said. "So am I the first to be graced with your company?" He grinned. "It is an honor. I did get a few letters sometime last summer, all in a bundle, but I had only news about you by way of England to know you were alive and well. So Uncle Brian and Her Highness have gone ahead with Danny?"

There was an uncomfortable cough from Geoffrey, and Georgie answered as fearlessly as she did everything else, "Danny stayed."

"Stayed? Stayed where?"

"In Japan. He wanted to travel more."

"Did his father grant his permission?"

"Did Papa grant you permission to be here?"

Charles looked away. "I don't need Father's permission. But this is only Italy, and besides, Danny's young."

"He would not listen to reason, and as I am very accustomed to loved ones' and relatives' individual streaks, I did not tie him up and toss him on the boat with Mr. Maddox," Geoffrey said, "though we did consider it."

"Did he say how long he plans to stay?"

"A year. Maybe more," Georgie answered. "I suspect until his sight is gone, which will be soon, but you ought not repeat that."

Charles nodded, and sipped his wine. "As eager as I am to hear all of the details of your trip, I can see that you both are exhausted, and while I was not expecting visitors, the guest rooms will be ready momentarily." He said something quickly to a servant, who nodded and took away his glass. "I assume Alison is not fluent in English."

"We're trying our best," Geoffrey said. Between the wine and his own exhaustion, he was light-headed, and glad that Charles brought their conversation to a close. "She'll pick it all up again soon. I'm just happy she recognized you."

They shared a laugh, and Charles showed them to their rooms – beautiful, spacious bedrooms with murals on the walls and a view of the ocean from the balcony. Georgie saw that Alison was fed and put to rest in her own room before she would agree to lie down herself. She kissed her brother on the cheek. "I worried for you."

"I would say the same."

She hugged her brother again. Geoffrey nodded to Charles, who left, shutting the door behind him.

They both collapsed, still dressed, on the grand bed, complete with carved wooden posts and a canopy. It was bizarre to be so far off the floor. Geoffrey helped Georgie out of her new dress, unlacing it in the back for her, and she slipped under the sheet in her under-kimono as he removed his jacket and vest, and kicked off his sandals. Despite all she had eaten, she was still a little pale. He slid a hand in and rubbed her belly, where there was just the smallest swelling of what would hopefully be their next child. This time, Georgiana bore her symptoms with considerable might, but they assaulted her small frame all the same.

"You'll feel better soon," he whispered. It was probably true; they were back on land, and she was probably near or passing her three-month point, when the initial symptoms would ease. "And you don't have to drink any more foul potions."

"If I still feel this way afterwards, I'm going right back on it. You caught me in a moment of weakness."

"It is the only way you can be caught."

They giggled, and with that, managed to finally relax.

...Coming soon...


End file.
